


Lesson Plan

by Slenderlock



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Excessive Swearing, M/M, NATMBB, Slow Build, Teachers AU!, meet cute, rating for future chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slenderlock/pseuds/Slenderlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a Grumpy English Teacher and a Fun Substitute do not get along. </p><p>That is, until they have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

o0O0o

Let it be known that Octavius Gaius is not a morning person.

He has three different alarms on his phone, because just one doesn’t snooze for long enough. The last one is set to exactly fifteen minutes before the bus arrives, three blocks from his apartment. And he credits the fact that he’s been able to do anything at all in the past ten years to his automated coffee maker, which greets him with a gurgle and a hiss of steam every morning.

“Fuck.”

Some days, he can tell how well the day is going to go by the first minute he spends conscious. And some days, everything just seems to fall into place. His blinds will catch the sun just right, blocking it from his eyes and bathing the room in a warm light. Slowly rousing him back into consciousness, he’ll greet the day with at least a hint of high spirits.

“Fucking- shit.”

Then again, some days are better than others.

“I am going,” he says, ignoring the way the sun is practically stabbing him in the eyes, “to have you _euthanized.”_

From the bottom of the bed, Henry gives a low _murr_.

“And then I’m going to have you _stuffed._ And _mounted on my wall.”_

Henry folds her tail around her front and looks Octavius dead in the eye.

“I mean it.” Octavius scowls with all the sullenness he can muster. “I’ll even put on a placard. Hand engraved. Here Lies Henry, it’ll say. Died Of Tragic Circumstance.”

Seeing that her tail is now considerably closer to her face, Henry takes the opportunity to begin washing it thoroughly. Octavius sighs, knowing he’s already lost this battle, and turns his attention back to the lump of regurgitated cat food sitting on his blanket.

Later, he decides, shoving off the blankets and forcing himself out of bed, he’ll deal with this later. He checks the time on his phone- 5:37 AM- and disables his alarms before heading for the kitchen. Perhaps some coffee will turn this morning around.

Henry, the traitor that she is, follows at his heels as he marches into the kitchen, chirping every so often to let him know she’s impatient for her breakfast.

“Of course you’re hungry,” he grumbles, but doesn’t nudge her away. “You’re _always_ hungry. And do you know why?”

Henry butts her head against his ankle.

“You eat too fast,” he scolds, scowling down at her. “And then you throw up. And then you eat too fast again because you’ve just thrown up.”

Henry, having reached the kitchen rug, flops down on her side and begins vigorously attacking the fraying edges. Octavius sighs.

“Fine, breakfast it is,” he mutters. “Just let me get my-”

The coffee machine looks at him with dead eyes, silent and cold. He looks first at the empty wall socket and then down at Henry, who’s giving the best impression of a sheepish cat she can muster.

Sometimes he can tell how well the day’s going to go in the first fifteen seconds of his morning. Then again, he thinks, as the clock on the kitchen wall ticks to 5:41, sometimes it takes a few minutes.

o0O0o

“Mr. Gaius, you look tired!”

_“One of the biggest themes in this play is the idea of moderation, and the fact that even though moderation would have saved Romeo and Juliet’s lives, it’s what makes their love all the more beautiful.”_

“Mr. Gaius, did you finish grading our Gatsby essays yet? What did I get?”

_“Friar Lawrence brings up the point of moderation, which is a main theme in this play because Romeo and Juliet don’t wait to get married and if they had everything would have turned out fine.”_

“Mr. Gaius, this is boring, when are we going to use this in real life? I don’t care about Romeo and Juliet, what’s the _point-”_

_“In keeping in tune with the theme of moderation, Friar Lawrence even caves, showing that human desire always wins out.”_

“Mr. Gaius, you missed a comma in the last slide, just after the word _however.”_

_“Every character in the play falls victim to their own self desires, forgetting to take things in moderation. Even Friar Lawrence-”_

Christ. If the school servers haven’t already blocked SparkNotes, Octavius is going to send them an email with the word _fuck_ included no less than seven times. Because if he has to read the word _moderation_ one more fucking time, he’s going to scream.

He sets down the latest crumpled paper- because of course Custer (what’s his first name? Geoff? Gary?) hadn’t remembered to bring his own paper, and of course the school doesn’t have the budget to provide its teachers with _fucking paper-_ and glances at the classroom. It’s only third period and he’s already far too out of energy to pretend he wants to give them the same lecture he’s given every other class today, so he’s given them all a break in the form of an extended reading period. Though, he notices, half the class seems more entranced by the clock than their books. He can’t help himself; he looks up at the clock alongside them.

God. Twenty more minutes until lunch. Why is this day dragging on so slowly? Is it just because it’s a Monday? No, somehow it’s worse. He blames the coffee maker. And Henry. Mostly Henry. All Henry.

It’s clear to him, now; this day is cursed. From the cat vomit to the coffee maker to the SparkNotes.

And it’s not just the SparkNotes. Every single class points out the same goddamn missing comma in his powerpoint- it’s not missing, actually, it’s perfectly grammatically accurate; not that these heathens would know- and when he skips into the teachers’ lounge after two classes to see if he can’t find something with sugar in it to pep him up,  of course the damn thing’s out of order. The student vending machine costs twice as much for half the produce, and he almost breaks his leg slipping on a gigantic orange juice spill in the cafeteria.

He barely stops himself from letting out a litany of curses as he rubs his now sodden and orange smelling arse, getting back to his feet. Around him, a small crowd of students starts giggling and pointing.

He groans and, wiping his arse once more, makes his way over to the janitor’s room. As he walks, he pointedly ignores the stares and whispers following him, because he obviously does not care.

“Gus,” he snaps, “Reginald.” He raps his knuckles on the wooden door, frowning.

“Yeah?” he hears Gus shout back. “Whadda you want, bub?”

“There’s a juice spill by the vending machines,” he says, through the door. “Clean it up.”

“Piss off,” Gus shouts.

_“I nearly broke my leg.”_

“We’re busy,” Reginald says, voice a little fainter than Gus’s.

“Doing what? Circle jerking? _Clean it up._ It’s your _job.”_

“What, you didn’t hear me?” Gus’s voice sounds closer, and even though there’s a door between them, Octavius takes a step back. “Piss. _Off.”_

Resigned, Octavius slumps to the supply closet and finds a mop.

When fifth period crawls along, he hears the telltale _humm-humm_ of a cell phone, and while on any other day he’d likely let it pass, he takes the opportunity to give a five minute lecture on the importance of Following Rules. And he’s getting a headache from having to answer _Mr. Gaius, have you finished grading our Gatsby essays yet_ over and over and fucking over, because apparently teenagers haven’t figured out how to listen to each other for _one goddamn minute-_

The SparkNotes, however, take precedent.

_“Romeo and Juliet may be impulsive, but it’s their impulsiveness that kindles the flame of their love. If it weren’t for their blatant disregard for moderation-”_

“Ahh-ah- _BLORFHL-”_

Octavius stares down at the page, which has now been decorated with a rather impressive glob of mucus in the upper right corner. He hears a faint chorus of halfhearted _‘bless you’s_ from around the room and grits his teeth.

o0O0o

By the end of the day he’s got a fresh stack of three classes’ worth of essay questions to grade, two empty overpriced cheese cracker bags from the students’ vending machine downstairs, and a massive headache. And of course the fire alarm goes off just as the last period starts, and _of course_ he doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting anything done with the resulting _seven minutes_ of class time.

God, all he wants to do is go home and sleep for fourteen hours.

So that’s precisely what he does.

o0O0o

Octavius wakes up, sluggishly pushes himself upright, and promptly vomits all over his chest.

Henry, perturbed by this new development, gives him an affronted look and stalks to the edge of the bed with her tail held high before leaping off.

The bile and fermented remains of whatever it was he’d forced himself to eat last night slowly begin to cook in the heat of the room, smell billowing back up into his face and nearly forcing him to retch up again.

He rubs his now sticky fingers together and contemplates bothering to camp out in the bathroom. Soaked with vomit though it is, his bed is tantalizingly warm. The back of his neck prickles with cold sweat, sending a shudder down his arms and through his toes. He grits his teeth together, shivering under the damp heat of his blankets. As they shift, the smell replenishes, and his stomach twitches.

Camping out it is.

He drags his freezing body to the tiny bathroom, shirt sticking to the small of his back, and peers down the toilet. It smells faintly of urine. His head throbs a bit at the thought and his stomach turns and rolls, but doesn’t decide to throw up just yet, submitting him instead to what’s probably going to be half an hour of urine scented torture.

By the third time he throws up- fifty eight minutes later- it’s nothing but bile. He spends a minute or so gagging, throat clenched, but as hard as his stomach tries, there’s simply nothing left to regurgitate.

A few chunks of what might be pasta- or perhaps cottage cheese- swirl around in the bowl idly before he flushes them away.

Christ.

o0O0o

He drinks two glasses of water and promptly hurls them back up before abandoning the idea of ingesting anything else for the next two days or so.

After turning the bathroom fan on as he leaves, Octavius hefts the vomit covered blankets up from his bed and into the washing machine. He’s never actually washed them before, so he just turns the knobs to the middle.

He’s going to have to call in to work, he realizes, after about fifteen minutes of leaning half asleep on the washing machine. The somnolent rumble and hum nearly lulls him into sleep, standing though he is. But he forces himself upright and fishes for his phone, dials the number twice before succeeding, and holds it to his ear.

“...Hi. Yes. Hi. Yes, I’m calling because- no. Yes. I’m sick.”

Something in the washing machine makes a sharp _thwack_ against the side of the door.

 _“Sick,”_ he repeats, because the secretary’s ears apparently don’t turn on before 5:30. His throat’s still hoarse from acting as a highway for the last hour or so, and his voice crumbles as he says it. “No. I’m not coming in. Yes, I _know_ it’s short notice. No. _No._ No- are you _listening-_ I can’t even keep down _water-”_

He rubs his thumb into his temple slowly, head beginning to ache properly, now.

“I don’t know. A few days, maybe more.”

The washer tumbles to a stop.

“No, I don’t care if he’s new.”

He bends down, stomach aching, and opens the washer door.

“Fine.”

Flipping his phone closed, he tugs out the sodden blankets and dumps them into the dryer, then sets the dial as high as it will go.

o0O0o

Well, this isn’t so bad.

Okay, being sick and being alone sucks. It’s just inconvenient. He’s lucky he had the strength to actually call up work, let alone to wash and change his sheets and blankets. Or perhaps he hadn’t.

But even though he’s still soaked through with sweat- even without a shirt or pair of pajama pants to insulate him- this is still pretty comfortable. His sheets and blankets smell like detergent, a welcome change to the mold-esque aroma he’d woken to. There’s a small bedside fan blowing air over his face, and though he can see the light behind his curtains beginning to brighten, they manage to do a decent job of shielding his face from the sun.

Henry pads up to the top of his bed and settles herself down beside his pillow, tail brushing his head. He absently slides up a hand and rests it on her side, counting her breaths, fingers sliding through the warm fur. She huffs, but doesn’t make any movement to leave.

Comforted at last, he closes his eyes and sleeps.

o0O0o

It takes a day for his body to recuperate before he can manage getting out of bed for anything other than the bathroom, and another two to eat anything without his stomach vetoing it.  By the third day, he can look at a screen without wanting to slide ice cubes under his eyelids, and by the fourth, he stops taking Tylenol.

He calls the school and tells them he’ll be back in by Monday.

o0O0o

Jedediah Smith is the worst substitute teacher in the goddamn world.

Looking over the classroom reports, Octavius fights off another headache as he sees that not only had Smith refused to follow the indicated lesson plans and chapter outlines, he’d also _gone backwards._ They’re supposed to be well into chapter 14 by now, but thanks to Smith, they’re stuck in chapter 12.

Oh, but not his third period class. No, they’d torn on ahead to chapter 14- and skipped the seminar on the short story featured in chapter 13, of fucking course, because two people had complained about having to speak in front of their peers. Smith apparently hadn’t taken into account that the only other way to properly check if they’d understood the material was to give them an actual test- which he’ll have to do to save time, now that Smith has gone and properly fucked his schedule up. And god, he never hears the end of it when he gives tests. So now he’s going to have to stay up at least until midnight writing twenty goddamn questions on _The_ goddamn _Pearl,_ because his goddamn substitute teacher couldn’t stick to the _goddamn lesson plan_.

 _And_ he’s got to keep them stuck in chapter 15 for a few days while the others all catch up, and how the hell he’s going to do that, he has no idea.

All he knows is that he’s calling up the administration the moment this day ends and demanding that they _never_ hire Smith again.

Except there’s one thing he hasn’t taken into account.

Jedediah Smith is, apparently, the best teacher in the goddamn _world._

At least, according to his class. Which, given their track record in various tests and essays, is not a particularly viable source. So he doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid when his first period class proceeds to bombard him with tales of how _this isn’t how the sub did it_ and _mister Smith gave out candy_ and a dozen other complaints that he really can’t be bothered to remember.

He _does_ bat an eyelid at Amelia- the teacher from a few doors down- stepping into his classroom as he’s settling down for lunch and, when she sees that Smith isn’t substituting anymore, launching into a rapid fire blow-by-blow account of exactly everything about Mr. Smith. It could be, if transcribed word for word, proper wank material for fourteen year old girls.

“And he’s so _sweet_ with them, you should have seen- he even brought donuts in on Friday- though he didn’t give any to me, the cheeky man, even when I asked- really, though, he’s just such a natural. And his smile, it’s just the friendliest thing, I don’t know how he hasn’t found anyone to-”

“If you don’t mind, Ms. Earhart, I’ve got rather a lot of these to sift through before the heathens return,” Octavius says stiffly, gesturing down at the stack of class reports written in- is that left handed writing?

Amelia deflates a little, but keeps the bounce in her step. After joining the staff two years ago, she’d practically latched onto him, beginning with his first day and continuing on even now. He grits his teeth.

“You should get sick more often,” she teases, still hovering in the doorway. “I think the kids like him more than you.”

He holds one of the pages up, blocking her face from view.

o0O0o

Her words don’t get under his skin. Of course they don’t. He doesn’t watch as every student files in, glances to the front, and crumples their face in disappointment when they see that their beloved substitute is missing.

It’s not like it matters. After all, there’s only one real teacher between him and Smith. There’s a reason one of them is employed and one of them is a substitute.

Still. When the last class files in and takes their seats glumly, he can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

The final nail in the coffin, however, is the little freshman boy that stays after the bell has rung. He’s one of the most difficult students Octavius has had since he came here- though two years of teaching isn’t exactly a wealth of experience to draw from- and he doesn’t think he’s seen a single fully completed assignment with the kid’s name on it since the first day of class, where he’d given out a quick half sheet test that consisted of two questions: What Is Your Name and Write One Interesting Fact About Yourself. But aside from asinine comments shouted from the back row, he doesn’t think he’s ever actually had a single conversation with the boy.

“Mr. Gaius,” Ahkmenrah Merenkahre says carefully, and Octavius looks up from his desk to see him standing patiently beside it, hands clasped behind his back. He sits up and regards the boy carefully. Clearly he’s uncomfortable without the rallying support of his peers.

“Yes?” he asks, uncrossing his legs in an attempt to make the kid feel a little more at ease. “What can I do for you?” He waits for the inevitable _Mr. Smith Is Better Than You_ speech.

“I brought something for you,” Ahkmenrah says, bringing a small box out from behind his back. There’s a clumsily tied dull yellow ribbon around it, and it nearly undoes itself as he sets it on Octavius’s desk.

“My mother makes me orange ginger tea when I get sick,” the boy tells him, shyly. “I thought it might help.”

Octavius looks at the box and picks it up, carefully. The ribbon unravels and falls to his desk as he opens the lid. Inside the box is a small wire tea infuser and three tiny plastic bags filled with tea leaves.

“Oh,” he says, and sets it down. “This is. Very thoughtful.” He closes the lid. “Thank you, Merenkahre.”

“And,” he adds, hurriedly. Octavius raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering if-” Ahkmenrah looks down at the floor. “If you could get Mr. Smith in, if you get sick again?”

Octavius exhales, breath whistling out through his nose.

“I’ll have a word with administration.”

He hates tea.

o0O0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's begun! The Night at the Museum Big Bang has officially started! (How many times do you get to hear that sentence?) 
> 
> This will have 5-7 chapters, I'm not sure yet, but it's all finished; I just haven't quite finished deciding where the breaks are going to be, haha :) 
> 
> Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed, and thanks so much for reading! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((sorry this chapter is a little short, the next one will be longer, i promise!))

When Octavius had imagined teaching in a real high school, he hadn’t imagined quite this many germs.

“I don’t know,” he tells the secretary, “it might get worse. Three days if I’m lucky. A week if I’m not.”

He squints at the different boxes of tissues advertised on the shelf, and picks the cheapest one. Lotion, really? Those companies really will do anything for money. He wheels his cart down to the next aisle.

“What do you mean- of course there has to be someone,” he says, frowning. “That’s what they’re _for.”_

He grabs two boxes of store-brand cold medication and drops them into his cart.

“He can’t be the only one available.”

Three boxes of store-brand medication.

“No, I don’t care who else. _Anyone else.”_

Two cans of tuna flavored cat food.

 _“God. Fine._ Three days, you hear me?”

A pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

o0O0o

_“An’ he had this game thing where we had to spell out words to learn ‘em instead of those vocab sheet things, an’ if we missed a letter, he’d make you sit down-”_

_“Merenkahre, sit down and for God’s sake-” Shut Up. “- please try to be quiet.”_

o0O0o

“It’s just food poisoning, it’ll pass by tomorrow, I just need one day- okay, fine, two.”

Two pints.

“No, come on, there’s got to be someone else.”

A bottle of Kraken.

o0O0o

_“Mr. Smith says the textbook’s ‘outdated,’ and he doesn’t like the stories.”_

_“Mr. Smith is not the teacher, Mr. Roosevelt.”_

_“But he let us look at this really interesting other textbook, the lesson plans in there were_ way _better-”_

_“I’ll tell you what: buy a hundred and seventy three of those textbooks, then come talk to me.”_

o0O0o

“Mother, I can’t just fly down, I have _work.”_

A _get well soon_ card, a bottle of wine.

“I’ll send you a package.”

A box of chocolates.

_“Surgery?”_

o0O0o

_“He even reads to us on Fridays.”_

_“What do you mean ‘on Fridays’, he doesn’t_ work here.”

_“Whenever you’re out and it’s Friday, he reads- we’re halfway through Treasure Island now, please, Mr. Gaius-”_

_“Please sit down, Mr. Merenkahre-”_

_“Mr. Smith calls us by our first names, he says_ A Nose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet.”

 _“Yes, well, a student by any other name would sound as annoying. Ahkmenrah, then,_ sit down.”

o0O0o

It’s a soggy Tuesday morning, wet with the traditional freezing February rain, that greets him as he stumbles into what he will later refer to as the Absolute Worst Day Of His Life.

“Morning, Gaius!” Amelia greets, popping into his classroom. He gives her a halfhearted wave and continues editing his daily powerpoint.

“Do you want something?” he asks, highlighting two words and bolding them.

“I think you gave whatever you had last week to Attila,” she says, gravely. “Administration says he’ll be out for at least until Friday, maybe even longer. You should wash your hands more, you know.”

He looks up.

“My father was diagnosed with cancer.”

Her face falls. “Oh,” she says, quietly. “Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“Appendicitis,” Octavius corrects himself, trying very hard and almost succeeding to keep the mirthful grin from his face. “I had to assist him during his surgery.” He waves her apology away. And then, probably against his better judgement- “What was that about Attila?”

Attila, whose classroom is across the hall from Octavius’s, is somewhat of a mystery to the school. He’s been teaching here longer than any of the other teachers, and no one actually knows his full name. Somewhere along the line, Administration had neglected to record it, and so now the students tack on a “Mr.” to his name. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yes!” Amelia bounces back up on the balls of her feet. Octavius wonders just how long it’s going to take him to get her out of his room. “He’s got the _worst_ thing- I saw him yesterday, he was just _awful._ I didn’t even stop to talk to him; he had to leave halfway through the day- they got me to substitute for his last three periods- have you ever had to teach more than one class at once, Mr. Gaius? Because let me tell you, it is _not easy._ Anyway, they said he’ll be out for a while, at least until the end of the week- you think he might have bronchitis? It seemed worse than bronchitis. I wonder if he’ll turn up a week from now with an inhaler and a pamphlet- I’m skipping out early today, I tell you, you won’t catch me around this place a minute after the last bell, I’m not spending a second more than I have to around that classroom-”

“You don’t think he’ll finally give up the ghost and retire?” Octavius asks, desperate at this point to get her to shut her _fucking mouth._

“Not a chance.” Amelia shakes her head, and blessedly glances at the clock. “Oh, dear, I still have to finish my seating arrangement, I’d better go- I’ll see you at lunch?”

He doesn’t grace her with an answer.

o0O0o

Attila has first period prep- the lucky arsehole- so Octavius doesn’t get a chance to see the unfortunate bastard who’s been called in to substitute until halfway through first period.

It’ll probably be one of the older subs- after all, they’ll need someone who can pick up an entire class and formulate a lesson plan for a long period of time. Octavius would have been able to do it, of course. But as he’s a proper teacher, he’s obviously got better things to do.

He’s just about to begin the discussion on this day’s chapter of _The Things They Carried_ when something catches his eye. Momentarily distracted, he glances at the door.

Through the tiny window on the closed door, he can just make out the image of a stranger unlocking Attila’s door and hefting a bag inside.

The man’s taller than he is, but not to the point of ridiculousness. He’s got on what looks like a leather vest, and Jesus _,_ is that a _cowboy hat?_ Those kids are going to eat him alive. Octavius feels a twinge of secondhand embarrassment, pre-emptive though it may be.

Nevertheless, the man’s not completely cannon fodder. He looks more or less put together. And his hair doesn’t look half bad. It’s blonde, dirty blonde, and cut longer than anything Octavius has ever tried. It’s messy, but not too messy that it looks dirty. It doesn’t even look greasy. Maybe it’s soft. Unlike the stubble lining his chin, which looks as if it would tear Octavius’s throat to bits if he-

“Mr. Gaius?”

He blinks, looking down at Abraham, a stocky boy who’s already well on his way to growing a beard.

“Sorry, yes,” he says, shaking his head and pointedly _not_ looking at the door. “As I was saying. This chapter serves as a turning point in the book, when Kiowa dies.”

“Awh, _what?”_ Ahkmenrah, sitting in the back row, calls. _“Spoilers!”_

“You’re supposed to be _finished with the book by now,”_ Octavius says, through gritted teeth.

“Well, yeah, but. Still!” Ahkmenrah says, as if this makes his point infallible.

It takes every ounce of Octavius’s concentration not to let out a groan of frustration. He allows himself a small self-deprecating sigh, instead, and glances at the door.

Through the window, Blondie is looking at him.

No, not looking at him. Smiling at him. Practically _beaming_ at him. Octavius stares back, momentarily stunned. Blondie does a… a _thing_ with his eyebrows, still smiling, and ducks out of sight, presumably setting something else up in Attila’s classroom.

Apart from Amelia, no one here at this school so much as says hello in passing to him. And as much as he despises Amelia’s company, he has to admit that she’s the closest thing to a friend he has here. Not that he particularly wants a friend. He’d be much happier without her company, thank you very much.

But Blondie’s… staring at him through a window. Which is. New. Perhaps he’s just very friendly?

“Issere something out there?” Ahkmenrah asks, straining to look through the door window.

“No, no, I, uh.” Octavius shakes his head. “Haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. Please sit down.”

Ahkmenrah pouts. And as if his entire being revolves around doing the opposite of whatever Octavius says, he scoots his desk another foot towards the door and stretches out of his chair, peeking through the window. And then his eyes widen, and he breaks out into a grin.

“Guys!” he shouts, pointing at the door. “It’s Mr. Smith!”

And Octavius’s gut sinks about a mile down into his shoes.

It’s going to be a long day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first sighting :)
> 
> (dont worry guys, they'll meet soon (next chap)- and then things will _really_ get started, haha- i promise this wont be just "grumpy octavius hates his life for 524097 chapters")
> 
> (also aaahhhh little kid ahk is so fun to write- he's basically me as a kid XP)


	3. Chapter 3

“So _you’re_ the Evil Mr. Gaius, huh?”

Octavius fixes the plastic lid over his coffee cup with perhaps a little too much force; it slips off and his fingers brush the scalding water. Wincing, he retracts his hand and the cup drops to the floor, spilling coffee all over the newly washed tile.

Smith laughs.

Octavius resists giving him a string of carefully chosen four letter words- after all, this is a professional environment.

Instead, he tugs out as many paper towels as one hand can carry from the dispenser by the sink and crouches down onto the ground to mop up the spill, grumbling incoherently to himself. Smith crosses his legs, leaning on the counter.

“Y’know, we could just get the janitors in here.”

 _First of all,_ Octavius wants to say, _there is no We. There has never been a We. There will never be a We. There is only an I, and a You, and I would prefer it if You could keep your mouth shut for five fucking seconds while I clean up this goddamn mess._

“This is faster,” he says.

“Suit yourself.” Smith shrugs, and- _is he fucking eating a goddamn granola bar?_

Octavius looks up and, yes, Smith is happily crunching away at a granola bar, just watching him clean up the spill. Fucking _christ._

“Anyways,” Smith continues, mouth full. Octavius turns his head back down to the ground in fear of being sprayed with spit soaked crumbs. “It’s really an honor to meet you. After all, I’ve heard _so much_ about you.”

“I’m sure.” Octavius crumples up the pile of sodden paper towels and gets back to his feet, judging the floor. No good, he’ll have to go down for a second round. Christ. If a single kid makes a comment about how his clothes smell like coffee, he’s resigning his position in favor of whacking them upside the head with the nearest-

“You sure you don’t want me to call a janitor up here? Gus or Reggie’d be- well, not _happy_ to help, but you take my point.”

_“No.”_

“Suit yourself, toga boy.”

Slowly, Octavius stands. His fingers tighten around the damp paper towels wadded in his hands, scalding coffee oozing out and dripping down his fingers, each drop splashing onto the floor in time with his slow, careful blinks.

“What,” he says, “did you call me?”

“Amazin’, the stories the kids’ve got about you,” Smith says, damning smile still in place. “You really threw a toga party?”

“It was for a charity event, I was merely-”

“An’ they got _pictures,_ too,” Smith chortles, seemingly unaware of the fuse he’s lighting. “You got really good kids, Gaius, I’m lucky I got a chance to teach ‘em.”

“You’re damn right you’re lucky,” Octavius snarls, paper towels dropping to the floor with a _splat._ Smith looks up at him, startled, eyes narrowing.

“Whaddaya mean?” And God, Octavius can _hear_ the single word that ‘what do you’ has been replaced with. Smith probably even writes it like that. Bastard.

“You’re lucky I was sick and you got the opportunity to feel like a real teacher, just for a few days,” Octavius seethes. “You’re lucky the school was desperate enough that they didn’t have anyone else to call in. I know. _I checked._ You’re _lucky_ Attila’s fucked himself over so badly that they needed someone, _anyone_ to cover for him, otherwise _you wouldn’t be here.”_

At the end of it all, his right hand is beginning to sting a little- possibly because he’s just burnt himself a few times over with spilled coffee- and he’s breathing hard. Smith stares at him for a few seconds, dumbfounded. And then-

Smith bursts into laughter, leaning back on the counter.

“Woah, there, Spark, I didn’t know you had it in you.” He snorts, then bends down and picks the paper towels up. “I suppose you’re right, I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that poor man.” He shrugs. “But a substitute’s job is never over,” he adds, with a wink, as he drops them into the trash bin. “Nah, I’d be back one way or another.”

He pulls out another two paper towels, throws them on the ground over the spill, and looks back up at Octavius.

“You ain’t gettin’ rid of me _that_ easy.”

Octavius swallows thickly.

Smith scrubs up the last of the spill and throws out the paper towels, then returns to the coffee machine and flips it on.

“What are you doing?”

“Makin’ you more coffee, course.” Smith does that eyebrow thing again and Octavius can’t find the words to make him stop, so he just watches as Smith slips in a coffee pod, punches the lid down, and waits for the Styrofoam cup to fill.

“So, _Octavius._ ” Smith says, as the cup gurgles with fresh coffee. He snaps a lid over the top and hands it over to a wordless Octavius. “What’s a pretty little gal like you doin’ around these parts, huh?”

Octavius blinks. “Excuse me?”

“With a style like-” Smith gestures up and down at Octavius, “ _that,_ I’d peg you as a college man.”

Octavius’s brain gets momentarily caught on the words _I’d peg you,_ but catches up just in time to hear _college._

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Well. I’m afraid that’s actually none of your business.”

Smith cracks another grin. “Suit yourself,” he says, shrugging. “Backstory Man.”

“Gaius,” Octavius corrects.

“Toga-boy,” Smith counters, and the name seems to have such an air of finality around it that he knows there’s probably nothing he can do about that one. Cunt.

“Well, then, _Smith,”_ Octavius says, holding up his coffee. “Do I get any backstory from you?”

Smith leans even more on the counter, as if trying to strike a wistful yet dramatic pose. He looks more like he has one foot lanced into a rollerblade and he’s desperately trying to keep his balance. Octavius resists the urge to whack him behind the knees and send him sprawling to the ground.

“I’m glad you asked, Spark,” Smith says, quietly. “At age four, I was born without a face.”

Octavius takes a sip of his coffee.

“Naw, but in all seriousness. My mother always told me, _Jedediah, don’t be afraid of big angry men,”_ he says, clenching a fist. “ _You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em, ‘cause they’ll swallow down nails and spit out corkscrews.”_ He narrows his eyes, as if thinking very hard about this. “ _But really,_ she said to me, _really, they’re just hidin’ the fact that they’re all soft down the middle. Like burnt marshmallows. All black an’ hard an’ bitter on the outside, but when you break ‘em open they’re just sugar, air, an’ powdered horse hoof.”_

“You’re absolutely mad,” Octavius muses.

Smith holds up his granola bar in a mock toast. “Well, course. You gotta be, for this job.”

Octavius raises an eyebrow.

“I suppose so,” he mutters, “After all, it must be hard having to pick up a lesson plan that’s already been written and follow it. Oh, hold on, that must be _extremely_ difficult, because I don’t believe you’ve managed that, yet.”

Damn him, Smith doesn’t even look annoyed. If anything, his smile looks even wider. Bastard.

“Aw, come on, Spark.” Smith brushes his hair behind his ears. He misses a strand and it dangles in front of his left eye, tantalizingly. Octavius’s hand twitches, and he thanks the grace of God that he doesn’t reach out and tuck it behind Smith’s ear.

Smith cocks his head to the side. “I can’t be all that bad, now, can I?”

“You,” Octavius says, gaze trained on the strand of hair for a moment before darting back up to meet Smith’s dazzlingly blue eyes. “Are _impossible._ And you don’t know how to make coffee.” He sets the Styrofoam cup down on the counter. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep yourself alive for this-”

Abruptly, the bell rings. Outside in the cafeteria, the floor begins to rumble as hundreds of students migrate back to their classrooms.

“Anyways.” Smith beams. “You ever need a hand with those _heathens_ o’ yours, you let me know.”

 _“Anyways_ isn’t a word,” Octavius calls after him. “Oh, and Smith?”

Smith stops in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Stop giving candy to my kids.”

Smith grins. _“Never.”_

o0O0o

Octavius grunts, hefting the last chair up onto the desk. It’s Wednesday, so the janitors will stop by to clean his floors in roughly an hour. And he really doesn’t want to have to talk to them. He wipes his hands on his pants and looks at the doorway.

“Toga boy.”

“Smith,” he returns, coolly.

Smith grins toothily and sits down on the edge of his desk. Octavius narrows his eyes, but doesn’t comment.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, instead. “I’m cleaning- you can get away without doing that, can’t you?” Okay, so that might be a little hint of bitterness. Just a little.

“Maybe I’m cleaning, too.” Smith kicks his feet back and forth, knocking them against the front of the table every so often. “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to keep looking at you.”

Octavius grabs the broom with perhaps too much force. Along with it comes the dust bucket and the mop, clattering to the ground. Reddening now- not blushing, obviously- he bends down to pick them up.

“Here, Spark, let me-”

In an instant, Smith is by his side, crouching low and grabbing for the mop. His fingers graze Octavius’s hand for a moment and Octavius wrenches it back, dropping the broom as well. It smacks the floor, and he winces.

“Sorry-”

“You’re too wound up, wheel-horse,” Smith muses, and what does that _even mean?_ “Calm down, yeah? Take a deep breath.”

Smith collects the supplies and stands them back up in the closet, spare the broom. Octavius stands and grabs it, but Smith doesn’t let go. Where Octavius’s hand is clenched around the handle, he places another hand, slowly.

“Smith-”

“Call me Jed.”

“ _Smith.”_

“Jedediah, if you have to.” Smith leans forward, hand still clasped over Octavius’s. “Though I suppose if you’re havin’ trouble rememberin’, I could always… _remind you.”_

That stray lock of hair falls back in front of his eyes and Octavius can’t help himself this time, he brings his free hand up and gingerly brushes it, fingertips grazing over Smith’s temple, tucking the lock behind his ear. Smith looks at him, in the way that so many others don’t, Smith _looks at him_ when he talks and he hates it, he _fucking hates it_ but he’s helpless but to look back and they’re so close and he can almost taste Smith’s breath between them and-

Someone screams.

o0O0o

Given that this is a public school, screaming is not a completely foreign- or, indeed, worrisome- occurrence. But somehow, Octavius can tell that this is different.

Smith can, too, because he drops the broom in tandem with Octavius. Together, they scramble out of the doorway and run down the hallway towards the source of the noise.

It comes again, a horrible, ragged scream that sounds desperate, strained. Octavius knows that voice, but he can’t quite place it- he runs through all the male teachers he can think of, but none of them quite match-

The scream breaks off very suddenly, and cold dread filters slowly down Octavius’s neck, propelling his feet further and further across the tiled hallways. There isn’t a single student to avoid as he sprints, as Smith’s feet thunder alongside him.

A door slams somewhere- the same place as the scream, down by the south end of the building- and as they finally reach the south hallway, another door slams. Octavius recognizes the second sound as the bigger exit doors, by the back of the building, and curses to himself.

They turn the corner into the south hallway and, sure enough, the end doors are just closing. He hears the screech of tires and knows they haven’t got a chance of catching the guy.

Panting, they both skid to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

“Come on,” Octavius says, pointing to the boys’ bathroom. “I think he’s in here.” Smith nods, following him.

They push open the door.

Lying on the damp dirt stained floor is a body. It’s reflected in the scummy mirrors, lit by the bug filled overhead lights. It doesn’t move, it doesn’t breathe. It smells of Death.

The glassy eyes of Ahkmenrah Merenkahre stare up at the ceiling, bulging out of their sockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SO IT BEGINS


	4. Chapter 4

“Could have been anyone, we were too late to see ‘em.”

Octavius’s knees knock together, shoes tapping incessantly on the tiled floor. Underneath him, the toilet seat slowly warms. His eyes are fixed on the mismatched pattern on the floor, black tile, white tile. The pattern slips as he blinks. His fingers are twisting with one another, fiddling like mad. When did they start?

“No, too far away. Couldn’t see the number.”

He closes his eyes and tries to think of anything but those eyes. Those dead eyes, still and shining with Death. They still stare at him, even now, and he thinks they might be able to see straight through him.

“No. I’m sorry.”

His hands are shaking. His arms are shaking. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can. His eyes are burning and he can’t make them stop, as hard as he tries, he squeezes tighter and tighter but they only burn and burn and _burn-_

“I understand, officers. Thank you.” And then, closer: “Come on, Gaius.”

The name snaps him back to the present. An arm curls around his own, tugging him up off the toilet and onto his feet. He staggers across the floor, blinks back. Smith is looking worriedly at him.

“He might be in shock,” Smith says, and Octavius realizes that Smith is talking to someone else. Behind Smith, two police officers stand, the taller one in the hat holding a notepad, the shorter one holding a radio.

“I’m not in shock,” he says, automatically.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Smith coaxes. And then, to the officers: “I’ll take him home. You have everything you need?”

The short officer nods. “Yes, thank you,” he says, voice vaguely foreign. French, Octavius notes, absently. “We’ll let you know if we find anything. But without a description, license plate, or fingerprints, there isn’t much we can do.”

The taller officer clicks off his pen and closes the notepad. “We’re sorry you boys had to see something like this. But you understand?” he looks at Smith. Smith nods, seriously, and Octavius can’t help but feel like he’s missing a few of the pieces.

“Come on, Gaius,” Smith says again, tugging gently at Octavius’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Octavius nods. He glances at the bathroom, door closed, and feels another wave of dread slide down his front, into the base of his stomach.

Together, they walk out the back doors, towards the bus stop.

Smith says something, but Octavius hardly hears him. He blinks owlishly and Smith sighs, trying again. “What bus do you-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish asking, because Octavius takes him by the shoulders, pins him to the outside wall of the building, and kisses him soundly.

Smith grunts against his mouth, but doesn’t pull away. He draws a hand up into Octavius’s hair and grabs it, pulling him closer. Octavius keeps one hand on Smith’s shoulder and slides the other up, cupping the side of his face. His thumb rubs along the rough stubble on Smith’s chin, and Smith lets out a small grunt as he does it- the sound is almost animal, it ricochets between his ears, blocking out- blocking out- he can’t-

_Glassy eyes, staring at nothing and everything all at once-_

His stomach twists and he pulls away, trembling.

“Smith-”

“Let me come home with you,” Smith blurts, as if he can’t stop himself.

Octavius looks at him, looks at his shoes. “I,” he says, “not that I don’t want to, but- I just don’t think this is a good _time,_ I mean, I just.” He swallows. “I just saw.”

“Exactly.” Smith relaxes visibly, putting a hand on Octavius’s shoulder. “I think you might just need, ah.” He grabs Octavius’s hand in his own and squeezes it gently. “Someone to talk to.”

Oh, that’s just perfect. He knows he has to talk about this, he’s going to implode if he doesn’t. And it’s looking more and more like Smith is the only person he can talk to. _Smith._

Fucking _shit._

He nods, and together they wait for the bus.

o0O0o

“Sorry, it’s not, ah. The cleanest.” Octavius shifts awkwardly on his feet as Smith follows him inside. “Though you’re probably well acquainted with mess.”

“Nonsense. This place is a palace.” Probably compared to whatever dump Smith lives in.

Like the polite bastard he is, Smith doesn’t wander off anywhere Octavius hasn’t shown him. They settle in his living room. Well. He calls it his living room. It’s the part of his apartment that has a couch.

“Drink?” Octavius offers, heading for his kitchen. There’s not much- half a bottle of Kraken- but there’s some. There’s enough.

“I’ll pass,” Smith says, holding up a hand. “But feel free.”

Grateful, Octavius pulls out a shot glass and the bottle and comes back to the couch. He sets the glass down with shaking hands and unscrews the lid.

“Don’t drink too much,” Smith says, gently. “It won’t help.”

“My house, my rules,” Octavius says, pouring out a shot. He takes the glass up, peers at it for a moment, then brings it to his lips. The rum bursts over his tongue, sharp, spicy, and vanilla. He knocks half of it back before setting the shot glass back down.

They sit together on the couch and don’t say anything. Octavius doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. Hell, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to _feel._ All he can see is the bathroom door opening and Ahkmenrah’s eyes, so glassy, so blank, staring up at him. Dead eyes really shouldn’t be that piercing.

He feels the rum slide through his body after a little while. His spine relaxes gratefully, having been clenched tight for quite some time now. He squeezes his hands into fists and releases them, letting out a low, ragged breath.

“Some day, huh,” Smith says, quietly.

“I hate you,” Octavius moans, closing his eyes.

“Yeah?” Smith says, in that way that means he doesn’t believe whatever it is he’s agreeing to.

“No, I hate you.” Octavius nods. “So much.”

“Uh huh.”

“You know how much they talk about you?”

“I think I can guess.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, until-

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell them,” Octavius says, voice ragged. “How- what are you supposed to _say?”_

Smith sits up, stiffly.

“Well,” he says, and something in his voice breaks whatever spell Octavius had been under. Or perhaps it’s the rum.

“Well,” Octavius repeats, sardonically.

“What you’re _supposed_ to say,” Smith says, not meeting his eyes, “is that he’s moved.”

Octavius blinks, very slowly. “What.”

“Least, that’s what we’ve been sayin’ for the last year or so.”

_“We’ve?”_

“I, uh. Suppose I should tell you- I actually wanted to come over for a. For another reason.” Smith fiddles with his shirt sleeve. “An’ I don’t know quite how to tell you this.”

Octavius stares.

“I hoped you wouldn’t have to see something like this- This sort of thing’s been happenin’, on an’ off, for the last year or so,” Smith says, carefully. “Kids gettin’ killed, like this. We don’ want to cause a fuss, it’d scare the guy off, so. We cover ‘em up.” Smith wrings his hands together.

“For fuck’s sake, Smith,” Octavius growls, “will you just talk straight for _fifteen seconds?_ What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Smith sighs, squeezing his own hands together in his lap. “Spark, I. I gotta tell you something.” He wrings his hands together in his lap. “I, uh. Ain’t really a teacher.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Octavius says, easily. “And yet you’ve gotten half the staff in love with your teaching methods and the other half in love with the rest of you-”

“No, I mean I ain’t a teacher at all. I’m sort of, uh. A detective, o’ sorts. Undercover. Here. As a teacher.”

Octavius stares. Smith looks at his lap, thumbs over his hands. His left hand breaks off and fiddles with the tear on his jeans, picking his fingernails through the fraying edges. After a moment or two, Smith looks up again, and his spark is gone. Instead of the cocksure back-talking substitute of his nightmares, the man that sits on his bed is nervous, unsure. Octavius looks back at him.

“Substitute teacher,” he says, weakly. Smith’s face breaks back into a smile, the twinkle returns. He laughs again, the same laugh he’d given back in the teacher’s lounge.

“Right, student teacher.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture. “I was gonna go with a proper teacher, but student was easier. No lesson plans to make, an’ you’re easier to forget, after all.”

“So,” Octavius says, sitting up a little straighter. “Now you’re a spy?”

“Not really a _spy,”_ Smith says, wrinkling his nose. “Nah, we’re tied in with the government, an’ all. But we ain’t really a police department. It’s complicated. There’s this whole audition process to get in, an’ after _that,_ you still gotta spend a year or so as an agent in trainin’, before you get any actual field work- _but_ since Angus got his leg busted up in Vancouver a few months back, they let me on early-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Octavius holds up a hand, stopping Smith short. “You mean to tell me that you’re a secret agent working for the government.” Smith nods. “And you’ve been placed here trying to track down some sort of… serial killer.” Smith nods again. “And this is your _first actual assignment.”_

Smith gives a toothy grin. Octavius groans and presses the heel of his palms onto his eyes.

“We’re _fucked.”_

Smith laughs. Octavius contemplates strangling him.

“Gotta say, Spark, you’re takin’ this pretty well.”

Octavius sniffs and drops his hands to deliver a strained look. “I work at a public school. This is… probably not quite the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I should be offended by that,” Smith says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock horror.

Octavius arches an eyebrow. Smith clears his throat.

“Anyhow. This guy’s been active for a while, an’ I’ve just been sent in to track ‘im down.”

“What do you mean, he’s been active?”

“We’ve been trackin’ him for about a year, now.”

“Tracking _what?_ You’re telling me someone at the school’s been, what, popping off kids left and right? Did I just _miss this?”_ It might be the rum, but it might also be everything else. “Has everyone else been kicking past dead children when they stop by the bathroom on their lunch breaks?”

“If word of this got out,” Smith says, sharply, “then the whole place could be shut down. Parents would throw a fit.”

“I’d imagine they would, if they knew a _psychopathic child murderer was on the loose.”_

“There’d be a scandal. The bastard would get his name up in goddamn lights, an’ _that_ would just make things worse, we’d have a hundred of ‘em poppin’ up like daisies. Even if we did manage to catch ‘im, all we’d be doin’ is inspirin’ others to do the same. An’ there’s just as likely a chance that we wouldn’t get ‘im, an’ he’d have the upper hand in knowin’ someone was after ‘im.”

“What, so the solution is to just leave these kids here unprotected-”

“Look, we’re doing the best we can. There’s always been someone on the lookout, we haven’t had an attack since this year started-”

“Then _what the hell happened tonight?”_

Smith falls silent, staring guiltily down at his lap. Octavius pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why now?” he asks, quietly. “You said this, this target of yours, he’s been active for over a year? So why are you here, now?”

Smith takes the conversation bait eagerly.

“The guy before me- Angus- took a mission in Vancouver an’ lost a leg, the idiot,” Smith says, shrugging as though it’s a perfectly commonplace injury. “Woulda been too hard to explain, so they took him out an’ put me in as a substitute instead. So now if there’s an opening, I fill it. Hardly ever a day when at least one teacher ain’t sick.”

_“That’s_ why they always called you in,” Octavius says, realizing. “Every time, they said you were the only one left, but- _fucking hell,_ do you know how _hard_ I tried to get someone else?”

Smith shrugs.

“Not that I don’t enjoy lookin’ after the little gremlins,” he says, “but I had a job to do. Been hangin’ out here as often as I can, lookin’ for this guy. This is the first real lead I’ve had all year.”

Octavius’s look of triumph fades. “And now?” he prompts, bitterly. “Now that you have your _lead,_ what now?”

“Now,” Smith says, grimly, “we’re gonna catch ‘im.”

o0O0o

“So we start with suspects,” Smith says, heading to his side-table and tugging open the front drawer. Coldly, Octavius yanks Jed’s hands away and sifts through it himself, extracting a pen and a scant pad of paper. He hands them over and Smith takes them, seemingly unaware of any apparent hostility between them. Octavius huffs and slams the drawer shut as Smith takes a seat on the couch, uncapping the pen.

“Suspects,” he repeats, prompting Smith.

“Anyone an’ everyone you can think of. We can cross ‘em off, but we gotta write ‘em down, first.” Smith taps the pad of paper with the pen, leaving a few blots of ink across the page.

“You sure you don’t want that drink?” Octavius asks, gesturing to the still uncapped bottle of rum on the table by the couch. “There’s plenty left.”

Smith smirks. “Gotta keep a level head, don’t I?”

“I thought the best private detectives weren’t caught dead without a bottle of scotch.”

“Good thing I ain’t a private detective, then.” Smith gestures with the paper. “Names, Spark.”

Octavius looks dubiously at the paper. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Smith says, nodding. “You’ve been round here longer than I have, you know all the names.”

“Right.” Octavius thinks. “Well, there’s Principal McPhee.”

Smith dutifully jots the name down. Octavius names all of the teachers he can think of, save for the few in the language department that he can’t remember the names of. When they’re done, they have a column and a half. The school website has the rest, and their list expands to another page.

“It can’t be Principal McPhee,” Smith begins, when they finish, “he’s working with us. On some level. It was his idea to keep this from the rest of the school. Though,” he adds, with a note of worry in his voice, “I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up. They sent me here without a deadline, but with… well.”

Octavius nods, deciding not to press the topic.

“Not Attila,” he says, veering the conversation another direction, “he’s out sick. And Amelia left early today, so she’s out.”

Smith crosses them both out.

“Can’t have been you or me, obviously,” Smith says, giving a smile. He crosses both of their names off.

Octavius peers at the list. “It can’t be Ivan,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s… Russian, but there’s no way he’d ever-”

“We’re workin’ with alibis here, not with intuition.” Smith shakes his head. “Until you got proof he wasn’t there tonight, he stays on the list.”

Reluctantly, Octavius nods.

“We have to get alibis for all of them,” he realizes. “Christ.”

“We’ve got all the teachers it could be,” Smith says, “but we’ve also got to take every variable into account.” At Octavius’s puzzled look, he sighs. “Students, toga boy.”

“I saw him,” Octavius says, shaking his head. “He was too tall to be a student.”

“Some of the kids here are taller than the teachers,” Smith points out. “That Abraham boy’s got a damn _beard.”_

“True.”

“We’ll get a copy of the class roster tomorrow, but for now.” Smith taps the list of teacher’s names, “this is all we’ve got.”

“What about, I don’t know, the janitors?” Octavius asks, picturing Gus and Reginald. Come to think of it, he’s never seen them actually talk to any of the students before. And, admittedly, they’re dicks.

Smith shakes his head. “They haven’t been working here long enough. The attacks started two years ago, they only started working here this year.”

Octavius frowns, but concedes.

They look at the list.

“Well,” Smith says, because the list looks rather worse for wear, with three names crossed out and a vague ‘ _Students?’_ scribbled at the bottom. “If we’re done with suspects for now, we could always go the other direction.”

Octavius raises an eyebrow.

“Victims, Spark.”

Twenty five minutes, two more shots, and several open tabs later, they’re still no closer to finding any answers.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Octavius growls, gesturing at the notes. “They have _nothing_ in common- no bad histories, no families tied to drug lords, no criminal records, _nothing._ They’re just… normal kids. Normal kids with normal nice families and normal nice lives.”

“There has to be something,” Smith insists. “Killers like this always have some pattern. It don’t always make sense, but it’s always there.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We’ll call it done for today, all right?” Smith says, quietly. “Tomorrow we can go talk to ‘is parents, see if we can’t find somethin’ out. Okay? We’ll work this out eventually. Trust me, wheel-horse.”

“I’ll trust you when you show me you’re capable of more than writing down names into a list,” Octavius snaps.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. It ain’t like we’re gonna solve this thing overnight-”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Octavius hops to his feet, gesticulating wildly. “Another one of my students to get strangled to death the next time they stop for a piss? Oh, of course, be my guest, that sounds _perfect._ We’ll just camp out in the bathrooms until we hear the sound of asphyxiation, what an _amazing fucking plan.”_

_“Calm down, Spark.”_ Standing now, Smith takes Octavius by the shoulders, firmly. “We’re gonna get this, all right? We’re gonna solve this thing. Angus couldn’t do it, but I can. _We_ can. But I need you to help me, all right? We ain’t gettin’ any closer by yellin’ about it, now, are we?”

“Fuck you,” he seethes. “What the fuckmakes you think you have _any right_ to tell meto calm down? What the _fuck_ makes you think you can waltz in here with your goddamn hat and tell me to _calm down_ when I just- when I just saw one of my students _murdered_ in the _goddamn bathroom?_ Oh, but I shouldn’t worry, should I? Because _you’re here._ And if you _know_ you can do this, then I shouldn’t have _anything to fucking worry about.”_

Smith visibly flinches.

“Where,” Octavius snarls, “was your precious fucking agency tonight? If you hadn’t been _fucking about,_ if you’d _done your fucking job,_ then maybe he wouldn’t be-”

Octavius is suddenly aware of the untouched box of tea sitting in the back of his kitchen cupboard.

The thought of it twists something very sharply in his chest, just above his stomach, and he gasps, unable to speak. Unbidden, his eyes sting with the sour salt of tears, and when he blinks they pour down his cheeks and hang from his chin. Snot streams out like blood from his nose, and he has to cram a fist into his mouth to stifle the desperate noises threatening to escape him.

Hunched over in his own living room, he feels the gentle weight of arms around his back, pulling him forward.

“It’s gonna be okay, Gaius,” Jed says, quietly.

Octavius opens his mouth, about to correct him, about to say _Octavius._

Instead, he takes Jed’s head between his hands and kisses him.

They stumble down the hallway, hands fumbling at each other’s chests. When they reach his bedroom, Octavius abandons all pretense of reason and yanks at Jed’s collar to tug him down onto the bed- Jed opens his mouth to say something, but Octavius covers it with his own before he can.  Jed doesn’t fight it.

Jed abandons the bottom of Octavius’s shirt to move their pages of notes off to the side table before pressing him down onto the mattress. He kisses the side of Octavius’s jaw, brushing his cheek with stubble.

Octavius sobs as he undoes the last button and shoves Jed’s shirt and vest off, tosses them to the ground. Wipes his tears on Jed’s collarbone as he presses kiss after kiss up across the skin.

Jed helps him heave the heavy maroon turtleneck up and over his head, and bends down to explore his chest. Octavius grabs his hair- soft, as he’d imagined- and cries unrestrainedly into it, not bothering to hold back his tremors. He shudders and jolts, the bed shaking alongside him, as he sobs and sobs until his throat is sore and he can’t do anything but gasp desperately for air.

Jed kisses the tears on his cheeks- not off, there’s not a pair of lips in the world that could kiss these tears away- and finally presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. He brushes Octavius’s hair out of his eyes and cups the side of his face ever so gently.

Octavius stares up at him through tear soaked eyes. Perhaps it’s the tears, but Jed’s eyes seem to glimmer and shine, even in the dim light of the room. The sun’s long gone down, it’s nearing midnight.

Neither of them will make it to work tomorrow.

Jed kisses a line down from his lips to his jaw to his collarbone to his stomach. He slides down, hooking his thumbs in Octavius’s belt loops, looks up at him in question. Wordlessly, Octavius nods and lifts his hips up off the mattress.

Jed shimmies him out of his jeans and tosses them to the growing pile of clothes below the foot of the bed. He places a hand on his own jeans, and, after Octavius nods again, shakes them loose as well.

Jed opens his mouth, about to say something, but Octavius sits up sharply before he can, kissing him roughly. He wraps his sweat slick arms around Jed’s ribcage, pressing their chests flush together. It’s a welcome warmth from the chill of the room, and he falls back down onto the mattress, pulling Jed with him.

Jed pulls off, opens his mouth, and Octavius shakes his head. Jed looks at him, looks at his tear soaked face, red rimmed eyes. Christ, he probably looks like a mess. He folds his arms back down over his chest.

Red faced, Octavius turns his head to the side, closes his eyes.

Jed kisses his cheek, his forehead, his eyelids. Kisses the side of his mouth.

One hand stays to caress Octavius’s hair as Jed kisses him gently, and the other slides down his chest and cups between his legs.

Shivering, Octavius brings his hand back around Jed’s back, digs his fingers in. He nearly chokes on the next sob that escapes him, as Jed rolls his palm gently. Jed kisses his tears again, rubs them away with his thumb.

Jed pulls back the elastic of his boxers and slips his hand below; Octavius exhales through his mouth, inhales sharply through his nose.

The hand retracts, he hears the faint sound of spitting, and then Jed’s hand is working over him, thumbing over the head of his now spit-slick cock. It’s clumsy and inexperienced and a small part of Octavius’s brain files away this information for later, but right now he doesn’t care.

He gasps, chest spasming as he begins to sob uncontrollably, clutching onto Jed for dear life. He feels his nose beginning to clog and knows he’s about to lose whatever ounce of dignity he still has around Jed, and with the first slow stroke of Jed’s hand, he chokes, throat clenching. Jed just rubs his fingers in Octavius’s hair, strokes him slow and gentle.

Octavius thrusts up, grunting past his sobs, and Jed takes the hint. He pauses to spit another few times into his hand, and Octavius takes the opportunity to sit up a little straighter against the headboard, so Jed won’t have to reach quite so far.

When he’s slicked his hand enough, Jed thrusts it back below the waistband and begins jacking him properly, settling into a rhythm. He latches his lips onto Octavius’s jaw, stubble practically tearing into his skin.

Octavius doesn’t pretend to last any longer than he does, just lets himself fall apart under Jed’s touch. It only takes him a minute or two before he’s coming, shuddering both from Jed’s hand and from his own tears, which, impossibly, are _still_ cascading down his face in full force.

Jed waits for a moment or two, gives a courtesy finishing stroke, before pulling his hand out. Octavius gives him one last broken sob before pulling him down and kissing him, hands trembling. And Jed lets him, just kisses him back.

They break apart, and Jed looks down at him, worry deep in his eyes.

Octavius looks down at Jed’s rather prominent erection, tenting in his own boxers. Jed flushes and shakes his head. Octavius opens his mouth, about to offer, when a sudden extra weight startles him out of his thoughts.

Jed pulls off immediately, sitting up and reaching for something he can use as a weapon- the pen, the lamp, hell, even a _pillow-_

Henry sniffs his toe.

Octavius’s tears seem to take this as a green light, because they refresh, gushing out anew. He leans over and takes Henry into his arms, bringing her up to the top of the bed and kissing her head.

Relieved, Jed scratches between her ears and under her chin. She purrs happily from the attention and settles herself above the both of them, perched on top of a pillow. She begins to knead it forcefully, looking between the two of them. Octavius wonders distantly if this should count as her giving them her blessing.

Jed looks at Henry, then looks at Octavius. Rolls onto his side. Opens his arms.

Octavius falls asleep to the sound of Jed’s breath and Henry’s purring, to the smell of sweat and spunk, and to the feel of cat hair in his nose and an arm tucked around his middle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow what a healthy relationship right   
> rig h t


	5. Chapter 5

It’s just a formality now, Octavius thinks, as Jed calls them both in sick for the day. Principal McPhee knows everything, knows that there’s no way Octavius is going to be able to walk back into his classroom and face that empty desk.

The other teachers will get notices stating that Ahkmenrah Merenkahre has moved to another school, and that any further information regarding his relocation is private and non-accessible. His parents’ contact information has now been taken off the school records. No one will question the absences.

“Yeah,” Jed is saying, holding the phone up by his shoulder as he grabs for a spatula. On the stove, the butter pops and crackles in the pan. “Thanks for understandin’.”

Octavius tugs the bathrobe tie around his waist and knots it as he slips the bedroom door shut. The kitchen smells of sugar and wheat and butter, and his feet stumble forward towards it.

Stood in front of the stove, Jed catches his eye and waves with the spatula. Octavius nods in return as Jed turns back to the stovetop. He shoves the spatula down under one of the pancakes and flips it, splattering butter over the edge of the pan.

“Just for a day or so,” Jed says, tapping the spatula on the bottom of the pan, spreads the browned butter around. “Maybe two, three.”

At Jed’s feet, Henry happily chomps away at her freshly served dish of food, tail brushing Jed’s ankles as she eats.

“Yeah. Thanks. Yeah.”

Thumbing the red button, Jed sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and flips the other two pancakes, then checks under the first.

“Mornin’,” he says, and yawns so loudly and widely that Octavius can’t help but yawn in return, jaw cracking.

“What are you doing to my kitchen?” he groans, flopping down in a chair beside the dining table. The wooden legs honk against the floor and his sleep addled brain makes him wince at the sound.

“Making pancakes.” Jed slides the spatula under one of the aforementioned pancakes, stacks it on top of a second, and stacks those two upon the third before delivering the whole lot of them onto a plate. He yanks open the microwave with the other hand, pulls out the glass measuring cup full of maple syrup, and brings the both of them over to the dining table.

“Making a _mess,_ you mean,” Octavius grumbles. “I expect you to clean that up, by the way. And pancakes aren’t the best breakfast, at least have _some_ kind of protein along with that.”

Jed kisses his forehead. Octavius sends him a glare that could have felled weaker men.

“Yeah, yeah. Eat up, Spark, we got a big day ahead of us.”

Octavius spills syrup over the edge of his plate.

“The school,” he croaks.

“Called ‘em,” Jed says, shrugging, and Octavius sags in relief. _“Man,_ that attendance lady o’ yours is somethin’ else, ain’t she? Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

Octavius butters his pancakes and slices them into neat quarters.

“Anyways-”

“Anyway.”

_“Anyways._ Eat your damn pancakes, Gaius.”

And Jed twirls back to the kitchen, humming what sounds suspiciously like _Thanks For The Memory_ as he sets about pouring more pancake batter onto the pan, leaving Octavius to eat his pancakes in relative silence.

He gets through three quarters of them before setting his fork down.

_Jed,_ he thinks.

“Smith,” he says.

Jed turns, spatula in hand. “Toga boy,” he returns, and begins to twirl the spatula rather expertly between his fingers. Octavius wonders exactly how much time Jed has on his hands.

“Last night,” Octavius begins, and the spatula flies from Jed’s fingers, landing on the floor with a clatter.

“Shit, let me-” Jed crouches down to pick the thing up. He stands back up, red as a beet. “Look, Spark, you don’t have to-”

“What I- I mean to say.” He clears his throat.  “What I said was… inappropriate,” Octavius says, stiffly. He’s not sure he can actually bring himself to say _Wrong,_ but it’s a start. “I apologize.”

That seems to take Jed by surprise, as he drops the spatula again. This time, he doesn’t bother to pick it up. He shakes his head, taking a few steps to the dining table.

“No, don’t-” He bites his lip, looking away. “You were-”

For a moment, Jed’s face crumples. It’s bizarre, in a way, how those twinkling sapphire eyes can change in less than a second into dull oceans. He doesn’t even look at Octavius, not for a moment.

Octavius inhales, and the stench fills his nose.

“I think,” he says, “your pancakes are burning.”

Jed’s eyes widen and, faster than a traffic light, his face returns back to normal. The moment passes, and Octavius leans back in his chair.

Octavius spears a pancake section and watches, amused, as Jed tries to pick up the spatula, wash it, flip the pancakes, and turn down the heat before he causes a small fire.

“What did you do to these?” he asks, pointing his fork at the remaining pancakes. “They’re…” _Better._ “Different.”

“Well, how do you do ‘em?” Jed slides the pancakes- just on the edible side of burnt- off with the spatula and picks the pan up off the heat.

“I follow the recipe?” Octavius shrugs.

“You mean you make ‘em with water?” Jed gapes at Octavius as if he’d just said _I regularly take my coffee with orange juice._

“The instructions say to make them with water.”

“You,” Jed says, pointing with the spatula, “have _so much_ to learn.”

Octavius rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them mention the rest of the night.

Perhaps they are fine.

o0O0o

“We just want to make sure that this doesn’t happen again,” Jed says, gently.

Mr. Merenkahre nods, stiffly. Beside him, Ms. Merenkahre- Shepseheret, she’d told them to call her- clutches his arm gently.

“I understand,” Mr. Merenkahre says, gravely. “We’ll do everything we can to help.”

Octavius clicks his pen on.

“The night your son was killed,” Jed begins, and Octavius wants to swat him, “you didn’t notice anything unusual?”

Shepseheret, who had gone white at the word ‘killed’, shakes her head.

“It was just like any other day,” Mr. Merenkahre supplies. “We dropped him off, half an hour before the bell. And he sent us a text on his lunch break, just like he always does.”

Shepseheret pats his shoulder.

“Did,” Mr. Merenkahre corrects himself.

Octavius writes down _Ordinary Day._

“And you don’t know of anyone who’d want to harm your son?” Jed asks.

“No one,” Shepseheret says, instantly. “I don’t know why you’d even assume- he may have not been the most obedient of students, but he’d never- no one would ever-”

“We’re just trying to make sure we know everything,” Octavius butts in, before Jed can inadvertently cause any more grief. “Your son was a good kid. One of my favorite students.” He takes a breath. “I only wish I’d had more time to know him.”

Shepseheret takes one look at him and bursts into tears.

“Yes,” she says, wiping at her eyes. Her eyeliner smears messily to the side. “Yes, sorry, I- I understand. No, he was- he was always kind to everyone. He talked about all of his teachers, how he’d talk with Ms. Earhart for ages- he never mentioned anyone he didn’t like- certainly no one that would- that would do something like this.”

Octavius writes _No Suspect._

“What can you tell us about his friends?” Jed ventures. “Anyone in particular that- oh, hello.” He looks over at the new addition to the room- a tall, skinny boy who looks too old to still be in high school but too young to refer to as anything older than ‘boy’. His hair, which has been tied neatly in a set of braids, falls past his shoulders, jostling as he walks. When he sees Jed and Octavius, his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Who’re you?” he grunts, nodding at them.

“Kahmunrah,” Mr. Merenkahre says, shortly. “Don’t be rude. These are investigators from the police department. They’re here about your brother.”

“I wathn’t being _rude,”_ Kahmunrah hisses. “I jutht asked-”

“Perhaps,” Shepseheret says, cutting them both off, “it would be best if you could leave us be, while we speak with these men?” When Kahmunrah opens his mouth to argue, she rolls him over. “It’s been difficult for your father and I, since your brother was-” She shakes her head. “Please don’t try to make trouble.”

“Oh, of courth, it’s been tho difficult for _you-”_

“Kitchen,” Mr. Merenkahre snaps. “Perhaps you’ll feel better after some breakfast.”

“And don’t forget to clean your dishes when you’re done,” Shepseheret calls, as Kahmunrah stalks away towards the kitchen.

“Yes,” Mr. Merenkahre adds, frowning. “And when you’re finished with that, maybe you can get a head start on cleaning up your room.”

_“Dad, I’m twenty,”_ Kahmunrah’s voice says from the other room, petulantly.

“Yes, and your room’s a mess.” Mr. Merenkahre snorts. Kahmunrah doesn’t say anything to that, so Mr. Merenkahre turns back to Jed and Octavius.

“Terribly sorry,” Mr. Merenkahre says, shaking his head. “I’m afraid our eldest isn’t the most polite.”

Octavius peers over Mr. Merenkahre’s shoulder to catch as much of a view of Kahmunrah as he can as Jed tries to soothe the situation.

“Ain’t a problem,” he chides, “Toga Boy here don’t even brush his teeth before he goes to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter today, sorry! The next one will be longer- and we'll get some backstory!!   
> I hope Kah's lisp wasn't too annoying, I was going back and forth on whether to keep it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Hope you liked this chapter, the next one will be up soon! (I was going to post them both together as one but it was just too long so I broke it up; so maybe ill post the next one sooner than usual)  
> \- [octo](http://www.octodaddy.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

"Ahkmenrah never mentioned his brother before."

Jed picks up a lemon slice and squeezes it over his fish. “Kid doesn’t seem too bad. He looked, what, twenty? Twenty two?”

“Younger,” Octavius says, picking up a French fry and evaluating it for a moment before slipping it between his teeth. “He was in my class last year- for a while, at least. So, nineteen.” He picks up another French fry, wrinkles his nose, and sets it back down.  “I wonder why he’s got such a problem with his parents,” he muses.

“I wonder why his parents have such a beef with _him,”_ Jed says, scowling through a mouthful of fish. “They were…”

“Cunts?”

“I was gonna say ‘incredibly rude’, but I suppose that works.” Jed shrugs.

“In any case,” Octavius sighs, “now we know even _less_ about this mess. If that’s even possible.”

Jed swallows down a mouthful of lemonade before responding.

“Hey, now, that ain’t true,” he says, shaking his head. “We know that either Ahkmenrah had some secrets he was _real_ careful about hidin’, or we got ourselves a killer with no motivation.”

“Neither of those make sense.”

Outside the restaurant, rain pelts the sidewalk. Octavius can hear the wind whistling past the glass as it rattles the windows. He shivers a little, even though they’re indoors and directly under a heating lamp.

“You know what else don’t make sense?” Jed asks, and for one crazy moment Octavius is sure Jed’s about to follow that up with _“How I let you fuck my fist last night and you still haven’t paid me back.”_ Immediately, his cock twitches under the table and his ears turn beet red.

“Uh,” he says.

Jed must take this to mean ‘no’, because he barrels on anyway. “Why that kid’s still there,” he says, shaking his head. “E’s old enough to get himself a job and move out, ain’t he? Hell, he should be in college by now.”

“Perhaps,” Octavius says, heart-rate returning to normal, “he likes the neighborhood.”

Jed rolls his eyes. “I’m sure that’s it.” He says nothing to the glare Octavius gives him in return. “So what about you?”

“Hm?” Octavius swallows his mouthful of cod and sets his fork down.

“You like this place?” Jed clarifies, gesturing around them. Outside, the sky is as grey as it ever has been, the rain as wet and the wind as cold.

“Not. Entirely,” he says, carefully. “The weather isn’t ideal, and this school starts about an hour earlier than I’d like it to.” He sighs. “And I can’t stand half the staff.”

“So why stick around?” At the word _stick,_ Jed stabs his fish.

“So I can pay for food?” Octavius raises an eyebrow. “It’s a job, Jed.” He rests his head on a loose propped up fist. “Not that you’d know anything about compromising for a job.”

Belatedly, he realizes his mistake. But before he can backtrack and apologize, he notices Jed’s face. Or, to be more exact, Jed’s grin.

“What?” he says, shifting uncomfortably.

“You called me Jed.”

Oh.

“Well,” he says, stiffly. “That’s your name.”

“Mmhmm.”

Octavius frowns. “What?”

“So we’re friends, now.” Jed’s grin outshines the sun. At least, Octavius assumes it probably can. He hasn’t seen the sun in a few months.

“You gave me a handjob the day we met,” he reminds him, picking up another few fries. “I think we’ve crossed that line.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, Mr. Gaius,” Jed teases.

“Not around my students, I don’t.” He eats his fries as a comfortable silence descends over them, filled in by the rain. He doesn’t mind rain, not really. He just. Likes the sun much better.

The rest of the restaurant is quiet; not many people go out to eat on a soggy Wednesday afternoon. In the back corner, a couple sits. The woman is short with a crop of purple hair sticking up in all directions, sitting forward in her chair as she talks animatedly. The man is leaning back in his seat, arms folded. He offers comments every so often, but seems content just to let the woman talk.

“So,” Jed says, and Octavius doesn’t even bother looking away from the couple. “Do I get that backstory, now?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come _on,_ this is perfect!” Jed plays with the straw in his lemonade, stirring the ice around. “You’re killin’ me with the mystery thing, you know.”

“What- you want my life story, now?”

“Yes, please.” Jed sips his lemonade. “From the beginning.”

Octavius snorts. “Absolutely not.”

“Then from wherever.”

“Jed- oh, for heaven’s sake, if you’re going to make that face every time I say your name, I’m never calling you anything but _Smith_ ever again.”

“You talk big, Toga Boy.”

“And you… talk.”

Jed laughs at that one.

“Well, we gotta start somewhere.” He shrugs. “What about your parents? House? Apartment? Come on, Spark, I hardly know you.”

“I’m sure you know enough.”

Jed smirks. “I know you give vocabulary tests every Friday. An’ that you don’t let people eat in class. An’-” Jed lowers his voice conspiratorially, leaning over the table and putting a hand to his mouth. _“You don’t grade on a curve.”_

“You must think I’m a monster.”

“Nah. But you do seem to hate kids.”

“You’ve got me there.”

“An’ you’re avoidin’ the question.”

Octavius groans.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than grill me?”

“Not really.”

Octavius sighs. “Fair enough.” He sits back in his chair. “Well, you already know about Henry.”

“Henry? Wait, he ain’t- your boyfriend?” For a moment, Octavius relishes the absolute horror spread over Jed’s face.

“My cat,” he clarifies. “I assure you, she’s not my boyfriend. I don’t think I could ever reach that level of commitment with someone who regularly throws up in my bathtub.”

“I take it she also doesn’t pay rent?”

“Sadly, no.” Octavius sighs. “She eats her weight twice over, though, which isn’t helpful.”

“Helpful?”

“Well.” He coughs. “Living alone isn’t exactly cheap. Especially on a teacher’s wage.”

“Ah.”

The chair squeaks under his weight as he crosses his legs.

“Anyway. I live alone. With my cat.” He raises his water glass up in a mock toast. “There you have it.”

“Basket case if I ever saw one.” Jed grins. “Grumpy old English teacher who hates teachin’, livin’ alone with his cat.”

“Hey, now, I actually like teaching.”

“Coulda’ fooled me.” Jed swallows down the last of his lemonade.

“I do,” Octavius insists. “I always have.”

“Which explains why you’re such a sour berk all the time.”

“I’m not a _berk_ , I’m an English teacher.”

“Berk.”

“Do you want the tragic backstory or not?”

“All right, all right, keep your knickers on. Or don’t.”

“Smith.”

“Thought I was Jed, now.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost that privilege.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart, Toga Boy.” Jed clutches his chest as if he’s been struck. Octavius debates throwing a French fry across the table at him. By the glance Jed sends him, Octavius gathers he’s thinking the same.

“You gonna give me that backstory now?”

“Ask nicely and I’ll consider it.”

“Tell me and I’ll stop giving candy out to your kids.”

That does it.

“I dropped out of college.”

Jed leans back in his chair and crosses his legs, fish still dripping grease between his fingers.

“Originally, I wanted to be a college professor,” Octavius says, wistfully. “I knew I wanted to teach and I knew the only way to do that and afford to eat was, well. Teaching college. So I worked, got a Bachelor’s in English, minored in Linguistics. I spent some time as a student teacher as part of a training program, got my license and my teaching certificate.” He picks up his water glass and swirls it. All the ice has melted by now, and he’s only drunk a few sips.  

“And?” Jed prompts.

“And I saved enough for graduate school.” He looks forlornly at the tablecloth. “For the first year, anyway. I was nowhere near earning myself a scholarship, so I had to drop out.” He shrugs. “I decided to save up, get a job teaching high school.”

“Yeah, but why here?” Jed frowns. “If you hate it here so much, why-”

“Oh, my first job wasn’t here.” Octavius shakes his head. “I started teaching at a lovely school over in Washington.”

“So why’d you leave?”

“I got a restraining order.”

Jed coughs into his glass, spilling lemon water all over his hands.

“You _what?”_

“It’s a long story.”

Jed looks pointedly at the window, which is still being pelted with rain.

“We’ve got a while.”

Octavius sighs.

“I may have given someone a concussion.” He coughs. “With a chair.” At Jed’s open jaw, he scoffs. “I didn’t _mean_ to hit him- I just punched him, first, and when he tried to punch me back I picked up a chair and then he had a concussion.”

The waitress looks over in alarm as Jed cackles so hard his legs almost topple the table over.

“It’s not _funny.”_

“Oh,” Jed pants, slapping a hand on the table and making the plates rattle. “Oh, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

_“I got a restraining order.”_

“Still standing? Or sitting?” Jed says, through giggles.

“Shut up,” Octavius grumbles.

“So, why’d you do it?”

“He was a cunt.”

“Guess I gotta keep an eye on you if we ever go talk to Mr. Merenkahre again, eh? You swing chairs at everyone you don’t like, Toga Boy?”

Octavius smiles over the rim of his water glass.

“Only the ones that try to get me fired because I happen to have a boyfriend.” Scratching his neck uncomfortably, he grimaces. “Suppose I just… snapped.” He gives a grimace. “In any case. I was given a restraining order, and I wound up here.”

“Why here?” Jed asks, pointedly not mentioning the word _boyfriend._

“They were desperate?” Octavius shrugs, setting the water glass down.

Jed reaches across the table, takes Octavius’s water glass, and slowly pours it into his own empty one.

“This is the only school that will take me,” Octavius admits, quietly. “They’re short staffed as it is, and I was the only one who’d accept their starting salary. I was going to save up for graduate school, but now I can barely afford to feed my cat.”

He smiles, thinking of Henry. She’s probably asleep, now. Or perhaps she’s eating. On second thought, she’s probably eating.

“And you?” he prompts. “I can’t imagine you had to take any courses on, say-” He gestures ambiguously with his hand, as if looking for an appropriate word. “Clandestine encounters of the subterfuge-al kind?”

“Wow.” Jed raises his eyebrows. “How long were you waiting to use that one?” He chuckles. “Eh, my uncle was in it before I was, an’ when I got old enough, he talked to me, helped get me a starter job. An’ now I’m here, I guess.”

“Am I just assuming you live on a cloud?” Octavius muses, deciding not to comment on the whole nepotism thing.

“Wh- oh, no, I usually just stay there. At work. There’s, uh. It’s a pretty big place.”

“What, and the commute to the school is manageable?”

“Oh, no.” Jed shakes his head, laughing. “If I have a job, I just book a hotel for a night or two. I got ‘em on speed dial, now.”

“How on earth,” Octavius begins, taking in Jed’s sloppy flannel shirt and worn down vest, “do you _pay_ for all of that?”

“Eh, they take care of it,” Jed says, easily.

Octavius stares.

“Do you,” he says, “pay. For _anything.”_

“Uh.” Jed frowns. “Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about getting a dog. An’ I send some checks back to my folks every few months. An’ there’s this great restaurant, off the corner of Pike and Third, god, it’s the best Indian food you’ll ever eat in your _life.”_  

“Huh,” he says, blankly.

“Anyway. I’m still not doing the best stuff- you know, where you can’t actually tell people what you’re doing- but I’ll probably get there, you know, eventually. If this works out. If not, I dunno. Still probably. But it sucks, for now.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, not sure if he’s actually joking or not.

“Well, at least you’re doin’ what you love?” Jed tries.

“I love to teach. I do not love to teach _children.”_ Octavius crosses his legs, grateful to steer the conversation away. “And I think they’ve made it quite clear that they don’t love being taught.”

“See, there’s your problem.” Jed leans closer. “You gotta-”

“I have to what, try harder?” Octavius scoffs. “I have tried _everything._ They don’t listen to half the things I say. The _analog clock on the wall_ is more interesting than I am, apparently.”

“I was gonna say,” Jed cuts in, “talk to ‘em.”

“I’m a teacher, not a therapist.”

“You’re a person, not a teacher. An’ they’re kids, not students.”

Octavius folds his arms. “When did you become an underpaid counselor?”

“I’m serious.” Jed points at Octavius across the table with his fork. “You can’t do a thing to those kids if you don’ know who they are.”

“I know who my students are,” Octavius retorts.

“Yeah? Name five.”

“Custer. Dexter. Clark. Lance. Lewis.”

“An’ what do you know about them?”

Octavius rolls his eyes. “Clark and Lewis talk constantly. I put them on opposite sides of the room and they text each other incessantly. I’ve confiscated their phones three times already this year. Dexter steals pens from my desk and blames others- I caught him _in the act_ and he still didn’t fess up. Custer never brings his own paper. Lance has an ego the size of the school and writes like a third grader who’s just discovered a thesaurus for the first time.”

Smiling, Jed cocks his head. “Yeah, but what do you _know about them?”_

“I just told you-”

“Lance takes private voice lessons, did you know?”

“I- what?”

“He’s in the choir, and he’s takin’ voice lessons. I ain’t heard him sing yet, but I bet he’s got a great set o’ pipes on him. You know, he’s thinkin’ of joinin’ a professional chorus once he gets outta school. That or the military.”

Jed cocks his head to the side.

“Merry and Pippin- he hates William, so I jus’ call him that- want to go to the same college an’ study zoology. Been friends since first grade, little tykes.”

He counts down on his fingers.

“Dex lives with his aunt an’ uncle, ‘cause his parents travel so much. They write for travel mags, so they ain’t got the time to stay home an’ take care of ‘im. An’ Custer wants to be president.”

“How-” Octavius gapes like a fish as Jed drains the last of his water glass and signals a waitress to come over. “How do you know all of that?”

“I talked to ‘em,” Jed says, shrugging easily. He takes the bill. Octavius makes a motion to grab it, but Jed yanks it out of his reach, slipping his card between the folds and handing it back.

“You don’t have time to talk to them,” Octavius grumbles. “You’re a teacher. You _teach them.”_

“Well, sure, but I got a lunch break. An’ I stay after a bit, in case they wanna say somethin’.”

“But you have work to do,” Octavius protests, weakly. He remembers stacks of chapter review questions, piled high beside his Tupperware lunch. Wine stains on an entire class’s pile of essays.

“Well, sure, that’s what I do when I get home. It ain’t that hard.”

“Not _hard?”_

“Course not, you jus’ gotta circle stuff when they get it wrong, count it, an’ give it back.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing if you grade like that.” Octavius shakes his head. “You’ve got to take into account their previous work- because grading is more about improvement than actual quality- and not only if they’ve followed the plan you set out, but if they don’t, you see why and how they didn’t, and if they know what they’re doing then you tell them and you adjust accordingly- what are you looking at?”

Because Jed’s just sitting there with his head in his hands, looking for all the world like the gates of heaven have just opened up in front of him. He doesn’t even look up as the receipt lands back on the table.

“You care,” he says, behind a smile.

“I do not _care.”_

“You do, you care.”

Octavius scowls.

“I’ve never found cause to _care_ in my line of work,” he says frostily, standing from the table and shrugging on his coat.

“Hmm, maybe that’s why no one’ll hire you,” Jed teases.

“No one will hire me because my record states that I-”

“You ain’t too good with this flirting thing, are you?”

“If you’re trying to sweet talk your way back into my bed, I can assure you it’s not working- Christ, is it still raining?”

They stand by the door and watch the rain, still pelting down onto the street, for a moment or two.

“Cab?” Jed offers.

“I have to stop by the school,” Octavius says, sagging a little. “I forgot, I left a week’s worth of essay questions sitting by the computer. I’m behind enough as it is.”

“Fair enough.” Jed shrugs. “You got a way over?”

“I can bus,” Octavius says, grimly.

“Lemme pay for a cab.”

“I’ll be fine. I have an umbrella.”

“It ain’t no trouble, really-”

“Jed. I’m _fine.”_

Jed falls back at that, nodding.

“I’ll meet you back at my house,” he offers, not unkindly. “The spare key’s in a bag taped to the underside of the rug. I won’t take too long, I promise. I’ll be right back home.”

Jed nods. “Right,” he mutters. “I’ll. See you there.” He turns to leave, but Octavius’s hand on his shoulder stops him. Before Octavius can process what he’s even doing, his lips press gently to the side of Jed’s mouth.

Jed stiffens, and he pulls away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“No, I just.” Jed rubs the back of his neck. “You, ah. You missed.”

Jed tastes like disgusting fried fish and licorice.

o0O0o

He gets back to the school about three hours after the final bell rings.

He unlocks his classroom and takes stock of the damage- another purple pen has gone missing from his pencil cup and he sighs, smiling to himself. The stack of essay questions sits on his desk, exactly where he’d left it.

Humming quietly to himself, he slides them into a manila folder and tucks them under his arm, sets to leave, and-

Outside the door, something crashes.

Octavius sets down the manila folder and walks to the door, silently. He can’t see anyone in the hallways- who stays in this building past 5:30?- but he can hear the unmistakable sound of thudding footsteps on the carpeted floors.

“Oi,” someone hisses, “careful, you want someone on our tail?”

“Sorry,” another voice whispers back. “This ain’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to carry.”

“Just be careful, idiot. I think Gaius is already suspicious; we don’t want anyone else-”

Octavius steps out into the hallway and just barely makes out the shape of the mop bucket down in front of the end doors.

“Gus?” he calls. “Reginald?”

Something clatters. In an instant, Gus and Reginald pop out from the boys’ bathroom, Reginald smiling carefully, Gus expressionless.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah? What are _you?”_ Reginald returns.

“We’re janitors, bub,” Gus snaps. “Let us do our jobs.”

“Well,” Octavius says, folding his arms. “I’m pretty sure it takes one of you to clean a floor.”

“Watch it, pretty boy,” Gus hisses, and Reginald points him back to the bathroom.

“You finish in there,” he says, meaningfully. “I’ll sweep the hallway down. Make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

Gus nods.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he snaps at Octavius. “Go grade your papers.”

The papers. The bus ride. _Jed._

Octavius blinks, before spinning on his heels. As he starts to sprint back down the hallway towards his classroom, he thinks he hears Gus mutter, _“Takes one of us to punch your teeth out.”_

When he gets to his classroom, the door is still ajar- as he’d left it. He runs in to find the folder still sitting innocuously on the table. He snatches it up, turns to run back to the hallway to track down-

“Why, Mr. Gaius, I thought you were sick today!”

Fucking.

Fucking _hell._

“I was,” he grumbles, trying to push past Amelia. “Had to stop by to pick up-” He gestures with the folder. “But I have to go now, so just let me-”

“See, they got in the most _awful_ man to sub in for you, didn’t know what he was doing. He probably couldn’t tell a roster sheet from a gradebook, if you take my meaning.”

“I don’t.”

“But, anyways-”

“Ms. Earhart, I really do have to-”

“Oh, you can catch the next bus, can’t you?”

“I don’t think you underst-”

“Look, if you really don’t like me, you just have to say so.”

“I- what?”

Amelia deflates a little, folding her arms. “I know I can be… brash. Obnoxious. Sometimes out of control. But I really don’t mean to be, honest, Mr. Gaius.”

“I’m not- Earhart, I don’t-” Behind her shoulder, he can just make out the squeaking of the mop cart’s wheels as they skid down the hallway. “Look, I don’t _not_ like you, it’s just-”

“But I just feel like I don’t really _know_ you, you understand?” She sticks out her lower lip. “I was going to talk to you today, but you were out- you’ll still have to tell me why, you know, Administration just told me you were _‘sick’.”_ At the last word, she makes exaggerated air quotation marks. “Interesting how you and Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome end up sick together, hmm?” She smiles smugly. “But,” she adds, vibrantly, “now you’re here, so- let’s talk!”

She leans on the doorway and stares up at him, eyes wild. “So,” she says. “What about you? What’s the mystery behind Mr. Octavius Gaius?”

Octavius fixes her with a cold stare, looking her straight in the eyes.

“The restraining order that was placed on me is still in effect, I have been tried and found accused on two counts of physical assault, and I am five seconds away from making that _three.”_ He takes a step forward. “And if you don’t want that to happen, I suggest you _get out of my way.”_

Amelia’s eyes widen even further as she presses back into the doorway, looks up as he hovers over her.

“Well?” he hisses, glowering.

“Oh, you’re so _passionate,”_ she whines, pressing a hand to her chest. “Mr. Gaius, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, I really can’t- apart from the children, of course, there isn’t a soul alive around here who has the same charisma as you do. Well, on second thought, perhaps Attila- but I really can’t tell if that’s just the way he is. But you, no, you’re different. You know, I was reading this fascinating book the other day, all about how everyone has an aura, really, they do, don’t look at me like that. And you have a, a- gosh, what do I call it, it’s on the tip of my tongue- oh, oh, yes, you have a _spark_ about you, I can sense it _._ Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” he growls.

“No one?” Amelia presses. “Not even your parents? My, I can only imagine how they’d pamper a thing like you, so full of energy.”

“I… suppose.” He frowns. “Yes, they were. Are. They send me money sometimes.” He hates it when they do.

“Oh, so you’re close?”

“Yes-” He tries to stick a foot in the door, but she wedges herself in his way. “I’m afraid they spoiled me a bit.”

“I see.” Amelia’s eyes lose their gleam.

“Er,” he says. “What about you? Your parents?” He doesn’t have to ask, because he’s seen Jed’s- admittedly creepy- file on her. Amelia’s parents had broken apart when she was barely eight, and her father had taken out his grief on his daughter for the remaining ten years she’d lived with him.

He’s grudgingly impressed at her optimism, in any case.

Which is why he knows she’ll shut up if he mentions her parents.

“Not, no- they weren’t.” Amelia stumbles over her own words. “No,” she finishes, eventually. She coughs. “I really must be going, Mr. Gaius,” she says, brow arched. “After all, I’ve quite a lot of work to do. And I do hope I haven’t caught your… whatever.”

_Bingo._ “Oh, but really, I’d love to hear about-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow- if you haven’t managed to succumb to the plague, that is.”

“Earhart-”

But she’s already twisted out of the doorway and vanished down the hallway by the time he thinks of what he’s going to follow that up with.

_Women,_ he thinks, dully. And then, thinking it over, he scratches the last thought out, replacing it with an equally exhausted _Amelia._

He grabs the files off his desk and takes his time locking the classroom back up. When he shuts the door behind him, sure enough, there’s no sign of either Gus or Reginald. Or that damn yellow mop tray. The floors, he notes reluctantly, look spotless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was hands down my favorite chapter to write- i love conversations TuT 
> 
> yay more character development! and yay for not angst! ~~*distant evil laughter*~~ shhhh no nothing bad's going to happen pshhh why would you think that


	7. Chapter 7

He spends the entire bus ride rapping his fingernails on the seat.

It’s almost dark by the time the bus drops him off seven blocks from his apartment, and he practically sprints down the sidewalk in his hurry. He clambers up the stairs, fumbling furiously with his keys, and the door opens on the fourth try. He slams it shut, panting heavily.

“There you are, Spark.” Jed beams, seeing him enter. “I was wonderin’ if I should wait up for you or not.” He’s sitting on the couch, a beer in his hand, legs crossed. “You got eggs?”

“Yes, I- what?”

“Great!” Jed sets the beer bottle down on the table and stands, walking towards the kitchen. “C’mere, you were complainin’ to the heavens about not havin’ yer damn protein- an’ I know it’s not really the best dinner meal, but whatever, I eat ‘em all the time- _the point is,_ I’m gonna teach you how to make the best damn scrambled eggs you’re ever gonna eat.”

“What, are you taking culinary _and_ education courses at your damn agency?”

Ignoring him, Jed grabs Octavius’s hand, and the manila folder somehow ends up on the edge of the couch. “You got paprika?”

“Wait, I- in the cupboard.”

Before Octavius can put in a word of protest, Jed’s scrambling around the kitchen, pulling out the containers of paprika and oregano and Octavius’s salt and pepper shakers, opening the fridge and plopping the eggs and shredded cheese out on the counter, and hefting out Octavius’s frying pan from underneath the stove.

“Right,” he says, hands on his hips, and Octavius forgets about Gus and Reginald and the mopping cart. “First thing you do is get the pan all heated up.”

He sets the pan on the stove and twists the knob just past the middle of the dial. Under the grate, the gas stove bursts to life, blue flames licking the bottom of the pan.

“Once that’s done,” Jed says, gesturing to the pan, “you crack the eggs an’ drop ‘em right on the heat. Then you stir ‘em, soon as they hit the pan- so they don’t solidify too much, an’ they stay nice an’ fluffy an’ moist.”

“You don’t mix them together first?” Octavius frowns. “I have a measuring cup that can hold a few eggs and a bit of milk-”

“Nah, faster just to put ‘em in the pan.” Jed shakes his head. “An’ I don’t use milk. Makes ‘em too watery.” He holds his hand over the pan and nods. “Here, crack ‘em in.”

Octavius opens the carton of eggs and takes out all four.

“Best way to crack ‘em is right on the rim,” Jed says, stepping behind him.

“I know how to crack eggs.”

“All right, all right, just makin’ sure.”

Octavius cracks the eggs. They sizzle and shudder in the pan and he grabs a wooden spoon from the drawer. He breaks the yolks, one by one, until they’re all golden and spilling over, and he stirs and stirs until the whites begin to turn white and the yolks bleed out to the rest.

Jed slides arms around his waist, and Octavius wonders to himself if this is the first time anyone has ever done so. It certainly feels alien- as he breathes, he can feel the pressure of Jed’s hands on his stomach, and he’s instantly aware of it with every breath he takes. Jed’s head lands on his shoulder, and warm breath lazily drifts across his neck.

He stirs the eggs around and around and around until Jed’s hand abandons his stomach to turn the heat down.

“Now get the paprika- and the oregano,” Jed mumbles, and Octavius grabs the two spices. He abandons the spoon for a moment as he shakes them over the eggs, then stirs them in until they look more or less uniform.

“Almost done,” Jed says, voice tickling Octavius’s ear. “Go get the cheese and sprinkle a bit on, much as you like.”

The mild cheddar cheese joins the eggs, melting as soon as it lands in the pan.

“Good, good, now take ‘em off the heat. You got a big lid or somethin’ to cover those with?”

“Should be under the stove,” Octavius says, clicking the heat off. Jed slides off his waist and he shivers at the loss of warmth.

“We just gotta wait a few minutes, just for the cheese to get all good and melted,” Jed says, coming in front of Octavius and putting the lid over the pan. “Without the lid, the eggs’ll get all dry and _eugh.”_ He makes a face. Octavius smiles.

“A few minutes?” he says, stepping behind Jed and sliding his own hands under Jed’s arms. He’s not entirely sure how this is supposed to work, but Jed’s approving _hummm_ must mean he’s on the right track.

Octavius thinks back and tries to mimic him, resting his head on his shoulder. But Jed’s hair smashes onto his face and into his mouth and he pulls back, sputtering.

“You havin’ some trouble back there?” Jed turns to the now red-faced Octavius, smiling his stupid smile and, okay, it might be a _little_ cute. Not that Octavius will ever admit as much.

Jed picks up the egg carton and drops it to the floor, then brings his foot down with a hard stomp.

“Love doin’ that,” he mutters, picking the egg carton up. He opens the cupboard below Octavius’s sink and slides it into the recycling bin, then shoves the refrigerator open and grabs for the bag of shredded cheese.

“Can’t have that gettin’ all moldy, now, can we?”

“No,” Octavius says, “I suppose not.”

“Now, then.” Jed shuts the fridge. “What was it you were doin’, exactly?”

“Oh.” Octavius coughs. “I was just- I mean, I only. That is.” He clears his throat. “I would like to kiss you.”

“N’aww, ain’t that sweet.”

“I’m _serious.”_

“If I say no, are y’gonna hit me over the head with your stool?”

“First of all, it was a chair, and second of all, if you bring that up one more time, I’m going to-”

Jed kisses him.

His fingers close tight around the spatula as Jed’s arm slides around under his own. He feels a bit silly, as if Jed’s about to dip him low or carry him bridal style- but then again, he’s standing in the middle of his kitchen holding an egg stained spatula, so anything’s possible.

Jed hums appreciatively before pulling off, amusement bright in his eyes.

“You talk too much.”

Octavius looks at the pan.

“It’s been a few minutes.”

Jed looks at the pan, then back down at him.

“We could make that a few more.”

o0O0o

They make it to the couch before either of them says anything.

Octavius ends up with his head on the end pillow and Jed straddling him, barely able to keep from losing his balance and falling off. Jed pulls away, gives him a quick kiss, and slides his lips down to Octavius’s jaw.

Octavius groans softly, tilting his head back to give Jed more room to work, and Jed takes the opportunity to sink his teeth in, and _oh,_ that’s going to leave a mark.

He twists his fingers into Jed’s hair and slides down a little, trying to make room, and he pulls Jed back up for another bruising kiss and Jed’s surprised moan makes his fingers tug tighter in Jed’s hair and he pulls off and whispers, _“I know who killed him.”_

Jed sits up immediately, eyes wide. “You do?” Octavius nods. “Why didn’t you- never mind that, _who?”_

“Gus and Reginald.”

Jed stares at him for a moment.

And then he closes his eyes, rolls off of Octavius, and lets his head fall back down on the couch with a groan. “No, no, _no-_ Spark, we talked about this.”

“But I know it’s them,” Octavius presses. He sits up. “I saw-”

“It ain’t. It _can’t be.”_ Jed reaches for his beer bottle, which is still sitting on the table by the couch. _  
_ “They weren’t here when this all started, remember? The timing’s all wrong.” He takes a swig of his beer and Octavius ignores the way his lips positively caress the rim.

“Jed, I know. I _know_ it’s them. When I went back tonight, to get these-” He reaches behind his back and tugs out the manila folder of essay questions from where it’s stuck between the cushions. “They were there, they were staying late, they were _in the boys’ bathroom,_ talking about-”

“Spark, look. I know you want to believe that it’s them, but I’m telling you, it ain’t.”

“Jed, you have to listen to me, I _saw-”_

Jed slams his beer down on the table by the couch with a _smack._ Octavius takes a step back. Jed takes his hand off the bottle, slowly.

“Look, I… I got a message. While I was waitin’ on you.”

“From your… your agency. Thing.”

“Yeah.” Jed runs a hand through his hair. “I was gonna tell you after, uh. Well. I was gonna tell you. It’s- I was put here as a preventative measure, see. They didn’t want to stir up a fuss by putting in a whole investigation- we’d run the risk of letting ‘im slip away. An’the school would go _crazy._ But. With this new- with, uh. With Ahkmenrah.”

“What did they say?” Octavius asks, dreading the answer.

“We don’t close this thing up by the end of the week, they’re pulling the plug.”

“What do you- what does that mean?” For the school? For them?

“Well,” Jed says, slowly. “I mean, I’ll go back. They’ll probably make me file paperwork for another month or so before lettin’ me out like this again.” He looks at his lap. “Figured I’d try an’ get one nice night in with you before, uh. Before leavin’. An’- an’ the school,” he adds, hurriedly, “well. It’ll probably be shut down.”

“No.”

“Nothin’ we can do.” Jed shrugs. “Unless our guy just waltzes in through your front door by this time on Friday-” He picks up his beer. “Least it was nice while it lasted. Can’t imagine the paperwork all those parents are gonna have to go through-”

“No,” Octavius says, again. “No, it- it can’t close.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Jed takes a sip of his beer. “But really, this is it. We ain’t got a lead. It’s… better this way, no one else will get hurt.”

“Don’t have a- have you been _listening_ to me? We have a lead- _I_ have a lead- Gus and Reginald,” Octavius sputters, throwing his hands up in the air.

_“Gus an’ Reggie aren’t murderers,”_ Jed shouts, eyes clenched shut. “You’re trying to twist your evidence to make it match your conclusion, but you can’t do that, you don’t understand-”

“I understand exactly what I need to-”

“I know what I’m talking about, Spark-”

“Oh, of course you know what you’re talking about- why don’t you just go solve this whole thing by your _goddamn_ self- you’re done a bang up _fucking_ job of it, so far.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me.”

“Listening? _You didn’t even hear me out-_ oh, no, because you knew so much better, didn’t you-”

“Because I know I’m right-”

“What, because you always know you’re right?”

“No, because-”

“Because that’s what you always do, you just _know you’re right_ and everything goes just fine? Because you don’t give a blistering _fuck_ what the rest of the world thinks? Because you don’t stop for a goddamn second to think about how, while you’re off _knowing you’re fucking right,_ the rest of us- the rest of the world has to actually _fucking work?”_

“Because I’ve been doing this job longer than you have, and I know what I’m doing-”

“And I was doing my job years before you, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that, did you-”

He’s cut off by his own breath, heaving fast in and out of his lungs, scraping past his throat. From the couch, Jed looks at him but doesn’t say anything. Octavius tears his eyes away, not bothering to try to figure out what his look means.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, voice low. “If you want to just- just _sit here_ and wait for everything to work out for you, then you’re more than welcome to.” He laughs, bitterly. “What do you have to lose, anyway?”

“Spark.”

“But I’m getting this done.”

Without another word or a look over his shoulder, he grabs his coat and slams the door behind him.

o0O0o

_What he doesn’t say is how much the words_ I’ll Go Back _had clawed at the insides of his stomach, how he knows that no matter how this ends, Jed is going to leave. How he knows that even if they catch this murderer, Jed’s job will be done and he’ll leave and Octavius doesn’t know what he’s going to do._

_Because he’s never known anyone like Jed before._

o0O0o

The bus driver squints at Octavius’s transfer, but thankfully lets him on without comment.

It’s still raining when he finally reaches the school, and it’s far past dark. But there are kids that stay past nine, he knows. Gus and Reginald might still be here- after all, a nearly empty school is a perfect opportunity for someone to strike.

Or _someones_ , apparently.

He toes off his shoes and leaves them under one of the bushes by the north entrance, then slips through the door and pads down the hallway.

He hears a faint female laugh down the geography hallway and peers over to see a collection of four students, all sat on the floor of a classroom. The tables have all been shoved over to the other side, and the four of them are all looking up at some animated movie being shown over the projection screen.

On the screen, an animated baboon swings around an array of Lisa Frank styled colors singing about something that sounds like _Appendicitis._ He decides not to question it.

He passes by the classroom and heads for the stairway. The south hallway is on the bottom floor, which means that as long as he’s been careful, Gus and Reginald won’t know he’s come back.

He pads down the stairs, listening intently for any sounds, and-

_kreeeeeeEEEEsskreeskreeskreeskreeeeEEEEEE-_

Running on his toes now, he reaches the boys’ bathroom and skids to a stop. Right outside the door is that damnable yellow cart, mop resting innocuously in the scummy water. The suds are still rocking from side to side, so they have to be close by.

He presses his ear to the bathroom door and, sure enough, he hears voices.

_If they’re waiting for some kid to open this door, they’ve got another thing coming_ , he thinks to himself, and shoves the door open, eyes scanning the room for any trace of child mutilation.

Gus and Reginald stare back at him, eyes wide.

And, okay, he hadn’t really thought this far ahead when he’d torn through the rain to catch the bus on his way here, when he’d fished out the soggy transfer slip from his coat pocket, when he’d  ignored the throbbing in his chest screaming at him to turn around, goddamn it, _turn around-_

And now, faced with two murderers, he suddenly realizes that he’s outnumbered and probably out-muscled as well. They might be older, but Gus and Reginald don’t look like they’re anywhere close to needing walkers or canes.

“You’re, uh,” He clears his throat. “You’re… caught. I caught you.”

And then he looks at the sinks.

Glistening in the dim bathroom lights, some wrapped in dry paper towels, are what looks like the entire chemistry department’s supply of distillation apparatuses and glass flasks. And, sitting in the corner by the newly changed trash bin, is a chunky television- and is that a VCR player? Christ, this school really needs more funding if that’s the best they can do-

“Hold on.” Octavius frowns. “You’re. You’re _stealing that.”_

“What did you think we were doing?” Gus snorts. “Washing them?”

“You’re not murdering children,” Octavius says, blankly.

“What-” Reginald looks at the flasks and then back at Octavius. He must look a sight- sopping wet and clad in his socks, cornering two janitors in a bathroom. “Of course not, why would you- someone’s been murdering children?”

“Yes. No.” Octavius shakes his head. “It’s complicated- _you’re stealing that.”_

Reginald looks at the sinks and then back at Octavius.

“We’ll put it back?” he offers.

o0O0o

Grateful though he is for the newly caught criminals practically gift wrapped for him, Principal McPhee still won’t give so much as a quarter to Octavius when all’s said and done.

He’s out of change and the bus driver won’t accept his crumpled up transfer that expired five hours ago- which is absolute bullshit, he’s never seen a driver as anal about transfers before, what a cunt-so he walks the forty or so blocks from the school to his apartment.

By the time he makes it to the steps, his hands are almost too numb to pull out his keys and his socks squish with every step he takes. His jacket, soaked through with the frigid February rain, sticks to his sides and arms.

It’s not until he’s already unlocked his door that he remembers who exactly is on the other side.

A very small part of him notes with the tiniest level of disappointment that Jed hadn’t followed him.

Hand still on the brass handle, he bites his lip.

What the hell is he going to say?

Somehow, _I’m Sorry_ just doesn’t seem like it’s going to cut it. And he’s nowhere near admitting _You Were Right._ But what else is he supposed to say? He doesn’t even think he’s going to be able to look at Jed, when Jed’s going to know exactly what happened the moment he steps through the door. He’ll probably look at Octavius with those stupid eyes of his and chant _I Told You So,_ or maybe he’ll go off on some dumb speech about how Octavius obviously doesn’t know anything about proper investigations.

Or maybe, he won’t say anything at all.

Octavius steels himself and pushes the door open.

On top of the table by the couch is a beer bottle, half full. The couch cushions are squished down, evidence of use, but empty. The kitchen is silent, dishwasher not even half full. Lying on the counter is a pan and an oversized lid, and as he reaches it he lifts it up, carefully.

Cold, rubbery eggs stare back at him, coagulated cheese winking with grease.

A soft _patpatpatpatpat_ breaks him from his trance, and he looks down to see Henry running over to greet him.

“I’m surprised you can even run that fast,” he muses, crouching down. She breaks into a low rumbling purr, and rubs her face all over his knees. “Well, at least someone missed me.”

Henry nips at his fingers, still purring.

“All right, all right. I’m glad to see you, too.”

He picks her up, carries her to bed, and doesn’t even bother to brush his teeth before collapsing onto the mattress. Henry stops purring when she falls asleep nearly an hour later, and as he rests his hand over her stomach, he stares at the ceiling. Outside his window, rain splatters the glass, not showing any signs of stopping.

“You know,” he says, looking up at Henry. “I think I might actually miss a few of those heathens.”

Beside him, Henry snuffles and adjusts her feet.

“I mean it.” He looks back up at the ceiling. On the bottom right corner, there’s a crack that runs from a spot in the middle over to the edge. “Do you think I ought to tell them?”

Henry stands and stretches her back, yawning. She sets her tail down first before sitting again, blinking at him twice before closing her eyes.

“Yes,” he murmurs, tugging the edge of the blankets over himself. “I suppose so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> octavius is a sad gay baby who snuggles with his cat when hes lonely ok hes very precious to me  
> also wow jed way to be a jerk  
> did you even leave your number
> 
> only a few chapters left until this monster is done!!


	8. Chapter 8

The rain carries on through the night and on until morning. And on through his bus ride to the store, and on through his ride to school.

Mr. McPhee corners him as he enters and thanks him again, then cracks a joke about Octavius staying after to mop the floors himself that he’s not quite sure is, actually, a joke. He laughs anyway and leaves, hefting his bag over his shoulder.

The room opposite his is empty.

He tapes a rectangle of black construction paper over the door window, unzips his bag, and waits.

o0O0o

“But- but I stayed up _so late_ doing this!”

“You’re serious?”

“Mr. Gaius, are you sick?”

_“Is he okay?”_

_“I dunno, he’s not being the Trunchbull today-”_

“Are you _sure_ you’re serious?”

Perhaps this is a mistake.

Octavius shakes his head. “For the last time, no, you don’t need to turn in your essay questions today.” At twenty six pairs of confused eyes, he sighs. “I’ve had a… tiring week. I don’t feel like grading them and I don’t think you feel like doing any more of them. So, even though it’s not quite Friday, we’re both going to take today off. And probably tomorrow, as well.”

The pairs of eyes blink.

“You can…” He searches for the words. “Do work for other classes? Or, I don’t know, listen to music? Look at your phones?”

“You won’t take ‘em away?” Lewis pipes up.

“No, I won’t take them away.” He shakes his head. “And you may sit wherever you like.”

“Can we eat?”

“Ah, now, that’s a little more complicated.” He feigns disappointment. Twenty six faces crumple. “I suppose I could permit you to eat in here,” he says, slowly. “Provided, of course, that you each take one of _these.”_

From his desk drawer, he pulls out a bag of tootsie roll pops.

A collective gasp sounds from the room.

“Well?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think? Are my conditions agreeable?”

 _“Fuck yeah!”_ Clark shouts, from the middle row, and the room descends into chaos.

o0O0o

It takes him nearly fifteen minutes, but he gets used to the steady drone of talking. Every so often he has to quiet them down a few decibels, but they seem to still be slightly in awe of his newfound charity.

“Yes, you can have another one,” he says, as Rex hovers by the half empty bag of lollipops. “There’s plenty for the other classes.”

Grinning brightly, Rex takes four, pocketing three and unwrapping the last.

“Thanks, Mr. Gaius!”

“Er, you’re welcome.” He sets the bag a little further away from the edge of the table. Rex looks at it forlornly before sticking the lollipop into his mouth and running back to his table. There’s a girl in a ponytail- Trixie, he’s almost sure her name is- who brightens as Rex comes over and offers her a lollipop from his pocket.

 _Cute,_ he thinks, before he realizes he’s staring.

First period ends with an awkward wave and a chorus of cheers in return.

o0O0o

By third period, word has apparently gotten around about Mr. Gaius’s new leaf. Instead of hopeful eyes that turn downcast when they see him, he’s greeted with excited faces- that don’t die the moment they see that it’s indeed Mr. Gaius behind the desk today.

He gives them the same speech, cracks open another bag of Tootsie Pops (okay, so he might have eaten a few from the last bag), and releases them- the only change he’s made through his classes is to add on a note about throwing away wrappers and not getting so loud that the teachers next door have to close their doors to block them out.

They adjust accordingly, and he settles behind his desk.

It’s surprisingly…

Boring.

He doesn’t have any paperwork to do- and he won’t have any again for a long, long time- so he finds himself restless behind his desk. Usually he’d be standing in the front, going over the day’s homework and introducing the next discussion topic. Or giving them a work day and catching up on grading. Or. Or _anything._

But this? This is maddening.

“Heya, Gaius.”

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the offhand mention of his name- which has never been prefaced by _heya_ before.

“I-” He spins his chair around to see Custer- George, his mind supplies- leaning on the whiteboard by his desk. “Hello?”

“Whatcha doin’?” Custer asks, looking at Octavius’s desk. “Gradin’ stuff?”

“No, I’m, ah.” Octavius looks out at the rest of the class, “taking a break, for now.”

“Huh.” Custer shrugs. “When are we getting our _Crucible_ essays back?”

“I don’t know,” Octavius snaps. “I’m working on them.”

“Oh-” Custer stands up off the wall. “Sorry, uh.”

“No, I-” Octavius winces. “That was rude of me, I apologize.”

Custer looks like he doesn’t know quite what to do or say. Octavius sighs.

“I’ve been under a bit of stress, lately. A… colleague of mine recently passed away.”

_“Shit.”_

Octavius smiles wryly. “My thoughts, exactly.”

“Nothing we can do to help, is there?” Custer asks, tentatively.

“No, no.” Octavius waves his concern away. “I’ll be…” _Fine_ is stretching it. “All right,” he says, instead.

“If you say so.” Custer leans back on the wall and pulls out a lollipop from his pocket. “Sucks, man.”

Octavius takes one from the bag and holds it out, tapping it to Custer’s.

“Indeed.”

o0O0o

“And he asked _me_ to be in the concert chorus- he even told me I didn’t have to audition, he’d just put me right in!”

Octavius suspects this is because the concert choir currently holds a 3:1 female to male ratio and Mr. Ivan is starting to get truly desperate- he’s struck by a sudden memory of walking past the choir room and hearing _“Louder, basses, LOUDER- YOU MUST LEE-ARN TO PROJECT! Song is like a fortress, yes? You must BREAK DOWN THE FORTRESS-”_

He doesn’t comment.

“That’s wonderful- so you’ll be starting next semester?”

Lance nods vigorously. “I have an audition song all set up, just in case he changes his mind.”

“How very… organized.”

“It goes all the way up to an _F._ I can go up to an F. If I warm up first. But mom doesn’t like when I warm up at home, so I usually warm up at school.”

“I’m sure you’ll be… integral to the choir.”

o0O0o

“Er- there might be some books from last year, back in the closet.” He frowns. “Really? You want to read a textbook?”

Sacagawea nods.

“Because you don’t have to. Really.”

Sacagawea nods again and opens the cupboard by his desk. She pulls out an orange rimmed, very battered textbook. She opens it to the fifth page and begins flipping through it, wordlessly. The room is silent; no one ever comes in here for lunch.

“You’re a senior, aren’t you?” Octavius says, tilting his head to read the cover.

Sacagawea nods.

“Any plans for next year?”

Sacagawea nods.

“Off to college?”

Sacagawea shakes her head.

“Staying here for a year?”

Sacagawea nods.

“Well, that’s good. You don’t have to go to college unless you know what you’re going to-“

“I’m not going to college.”

Sacagawea holds the book to her side.

Octavius frowns. “You’re one of the best students I’ve ever had- if you take a few courses, you could be a really great writer, you know.”

“No, I.” Sacagawea holds the book tighter. “I can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Octavius shrugs. “You could apply for a scholarship- or go to a community college-”

“I can’t.” Sacagawea’s hands drift, nearly imperceptibly, to her stomach.

_Ah._

“Well,” he says, carefully. “There are online courses you could take.”

She says nothing.

“They might not be the same as actually seeing your teacher, but they’re cheaper than other classes. And you wouldn’t have to leave home.”

Sacagawea sits down.

“Think about it?”

Sacagawea opens her book in front of her face, but Octavius can still see just the hint of a smile.

o0O0o

“And I sent a letter to the principal about it- well, an email, technically, but still- and he still hasn’t written me back! It’s been a week, I mean, come on!”

“He’s… busy,” Octavius says, shrugging. Teddy rubs the sides of his wheelchair impatiently.

“But they don’t have _anything_ about smallpox blankets, or Geronimo, or the whole part where they _made the Native Americans hunt each other down.”_ Teddy throws up his hands in exasperation.

“They are a bit outdated,” Octavius agrees. “But you have to understand, textbooks cost a lot of money- we just don’t have that to spare.”

“You don’t even have enough for paper,” Teddy muses. “Wow. Being a teacher _sucks.”_

“It’s not all bad.” Octavius shrugs. “I get summers off.”

“Well, everyone gets summers off.”

Octavius raises an eyebrow.

Teddy’s jaw drops.

“No _way._ I’m gonna have to _work_ in the _summer?_ When I’m _old?”_

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Octavius grins. “Unless, of course, you become a teacher.”

Teddy groans.

“My dad says if I don’t get a job this summer, he’s gonna take my library card away. _Again.”_

“My, what a hard punishment.”

“He says we pay too much for fines.”

Octavius just barely stops himself from saying _What, and you mother can’t convince him otherwise_ before he remembers the single name listed under Teddy’s _Parent/Guardian_ section.

Teddy takes his glasses off, wipes them with his shirt, and puts them back on. “Anyway. If Mr. McPhee doesn’t send something back, I’m gonna resend it and forward it to all the teachers.”

“Interesting tactic.” Octavius smiles. “You know, if you found a few others that agreed with you, you could start a club- you’d be president, no doubt. The school gives funds to clubs that have reasonable intent. It’s probably not much, but it’s a start.”

“Really?” Teddy’s eyes light up.

“You’ll have to get at least four members, fill out a form, and pass it through the Student Body Collection, but yes.” Octavius smiles. “Really.”

 _“Wow.”_ Teddy beams. “I’m gonna be _president.”_

o0O0o

“They’re coming home next week, and we’re going to go to the zoo.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

“I hate the zoo. The zoo’s for, like, kids.”

 _“I_ like the zoo.”

“Seriously?”

“I haven’t been in quite some time, I imagine it’s changed.”

Dexter rubs his fingers through his grease stained hair, scowling. “They take me there every time they come home. It’s the _worst.”_

“Do they still have the aviary and the reptile house?”

“Nah.” Dexter shrugs. “They took ‘em down, put in a whole, like, marine section. I think there’s penguins.”

“Pity.” Octavius frowns. “I rather liked the aviary.”

“Yeah, well.” Dexter rolls his eyes. “The only thing that’s stayed the same is the dumb African place.”

“If it’s that popular, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it _dumb.”_

“The lions just, like- just _sit._ They don’t _do anything._ An’ the monkeys all just scratch their asses while people take pictures, and you can’t even see the birds, half the time, and _ugh.”_

Octavius decides not to mention the countless times he’s seen Dexter scratching his own-

“Well,” he says, “could you talk to your parents?” Dexter frowns. “About alternative plans,” he clarifies.

“They pay, like, a ton.” Dexter crosses his arms. “Like, they already sent the money in. They buy a _zoo membership.”_

“Afterwards, then?”

“No, ‘cause they talk about how great the stupid zoo was for, like, the whole time they’re here. I can’t just go ‘hey, by the way, the zoo’s stupid, let’s do something else next time.’”

“Technically, you _could.”_

“Yeah, but then they’d be all, like, sad and stuff.”

“I suppose.” Octavius tries to give a supporting smile and hopes it doesn’t come off as a grimace. “Though I’m sure they’d rather you be happy. After all, they don’t see you very often.” He considers. “Did you ever enjoy the zoo?”

“Oh, sure. As, like, a kid.” Dexter’s eyes widen. _“Oh.”_

“Perhaps,” Octavius says, “all they need is a little more insight.”

“In-what?”

“Er- understanding. From your perspective, that is.”

“Huh.” Dexter nods. “That’s. Yeah, maybe.” He looks at Octavius’s desk. “Hey, can I have another one of those?”

Octavius slides the bag of lollipops over with a smile.

o0O0o

He doesn’t go quite so far as shouting _your only assignment is to Have Fun!_ as they leave, but it’s a close thing.

“Just promise me you’ll at least _look at_ the next chapter,” he says, weakly. The kids all smile and nod in that way that means they have absolutely no intention of doing as he says, and file out noisily as the bell sounds.

Octavius looks at the extra bag of Tootsie Pops still in his bag and sighs. He’ll do the same thing tomorrow, and then-

And then. And then he’ll never come back.

He stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his neck as he shimmies down in his seat. He may as well just sleep here, really, there’s not much of a point to going home and coming back. Though- glancing at the one and a half bags of Tootsie Pops lying in his bag, he’ll probably disappoint them all if he doesn’t come tomorrow bearing more gifts.

There’s nothing for it, he’ll have to go home.

He flicks off the lights, pushes in all the chairs, and does a quick glance at the floors to make sure nothing too horrible’s been spilled on the floor- no, just water- and makes to leave. He pulls open the door, and-

“Gaius.”

Octavius’s first instinct is to slam the door in Jed’s face, but he musters a rather heroic effort and resists.

“Smith,” he returns, forcing himself to meet Jed’s eyes.

“Look, I- Gaius, we got a lead.”

“A lead?”

“Yes, a _lead_ \- oh, for heaven’s sake, Gaius, I don’t got time to tell you I’m sorry, we gotta _go.”_

Octavius slides the bag over his shoulder and locks the door behind him, following Jed down the hallway. Jed breaks into a jog, and then a sprint, and Octavius huffs behind him.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he calls, _“what was that?”_

_“Are your ears made of wax? We. Have. A. Lead.”_

_“No, no, after that.”_

They skid to the end of the hallway and turn the corner, heading for the doors.

_“What? I’m sorry?”_

_“Yes,”_ Octavius says, panting. They part the sea of students as they run, shouting to one another. _“I didn’t quite catch that part.”_

“I’m- _sorry_ -” Jed pants, as they reach the parking lot. He holds out his keys and a car at the edge lights up in response. He yanks the passenger side door open and runs to the other side. “I shouldn’t’a-”

Octavius slams his car door shut. “Go, _go!”_

“Right, yeah”-

The car skids out of the parking lot and down the street, tires screeching. They swerve around student traffic for a few minutes before breaking off the main road and heading up towards the freeway. Octavius lets out a sigh.

“Okay,” he mutters. “ _What_ now?”

Hands white knuckled around the wheel, Jed sets his head back on the headrest. “Gaius, I. Look. I’m sorry. Last night, I just- I should have listened to you, I should have-”

“What?”

Jed takes his eyes off the road for a second to frown at Octavius. He sidles the car up to the freeway entrance and merges in.

“I’m tryin’ to apologize, Gaius, would you listen to me for one second?”

Octavius stares, dumbly.

“Look, I. I shouldn’t’a left, I’m sorry. I should have waited for you, or gone with you, or- or _anythin’._ Guess I just didn’t want to have to face you again.” He sighs, and the car swerves a little to the left. “Ack- sorry,” he mutters, turning them back on course. “You got every reason to be mad at me. I mean, you were right.”

“I was- what?” That’s definitely not correct.

“It- this is all my fault.”

Beside them, a yellow hummer blasts its horn and passes them.

“What are you talking about?” Octavius stares at Jed, whose eyes are fixed resolutely on the road. And then he remembers, remembers _If you hadn’t been_ fucking about _, if you’d_ done your fucking job, _then maybe he wouldn’t be-_

“Oh my god,” he says.

“I… should’a done something, should’a been there, it’s my fault, what happened to Ahk. An’ now this place is gonna close, an’ you’re gonna lose your _job,_ an’ it’s my fault, it’s all my fault-”

“Christ, Jed, you can’t blame yourself for oh _my god don’t hit that truck-”_

_“Shit!”_

They swerve into the nearest exit, careen down the ramp, and skid to a stop behind a red light. Jed’s hands are white, clenched around the steering wheel.

“Jed,” he says, carefully. Jed gives no indication of hearing him. “Jed,” he tries again. “Jed, I- I wasn’t thinking right when I said that, all right?” He pauses. “What happened wasn’t your fault,” he says, quietly. “I promise you it wasn’t.”

Jed doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t mean- when I said-” Octavius bites his lip. “I’msorry.”

Jed’s lower lip tightens and he sucks in a breath, but still says nothing.

“I didn’t mean to- I never blamed you, not for anything,” Octavius says, bringing his hands together. “I was. I was just.” He closes his eyes. “Jealous.”

Jed takes his eyes off the red light and stares at Octavius.

“And I didn’t listen to you- you were right.” Octavius clears his throat. “They- Reginald and Gus- they weren’t- I mean, they were only, uh. Stealing hundreds of dollars’ worth of lab equipment- and I think a TV, but-”

“Seriously?” Jed croaks.

“Well, before, I heard them talking about how they thought _Gaius was suspicious,”_ he says, making air quotes for the last two words, “and they didn’t want to attract attention, or something.”

“Shit,” Jed breathes. _“Shit._ An’ they were just…?”

“Had it all lined up in the bathroom. I think they were using their mopping cart to take it all out.”

“Wow.” Jed rubs his eyes. “I’m… sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“No, that’s-” Octavius shakes his head. “No, that’s the point. You were right. And I was. Wrong. And last night, I said- I mean, I shouldn’t have said- the _point_ is I am. I was.” He sighs. “A cunt.”

At least three car horns blare behind them as the light turns green, and Jed sits up in the driver’s seat.

“Damn right you are,” he says through his grin, and slams his foot on the accelerator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also one of my favorite chapters to write- the kids are the besssst  
> (p.s. can you gueth who their new lead ith?)


	9. Chapter 9

Jed pulls the car up beside an expensive looking grocery market- and wow, is that logo made with clipart? He parallel parks with only a slight hint of difficulty and they both get out of the car. The February chill, while not speckled with rain, still bites at their necks and ears.

“Are we stopping to get groceries?” Octavius asks, wryly. Jed snorts.

“No, we’re stoppin’ to get answers.”

“I swear to _Christ_ , if you don’t tell me what’s going on-”

“You remember that brother?”

Octavius stares.

“You can’t be serious.”

“His shift ends in-” Jed checks his watch. “-three minutes, c’mon.”

“You- you _can’t be serious.”_

“Course I am.” Jed pulls a post it note from his pocket. “Two minutes.” He stuffs the post it note back.

“If you’re seriously suggesting,” Octavius huffs as they walk through the parking lot, “that that boy murdered not only his _own brother_ but also _six other people-”_

“What- no,” Jed splutters. They stop under the awning, protected somewhat from the wind. “I was lookin’ through all the stuff we had, an’ I found those notes of yours- an’ I had a thought- the killer went after Ahk, right? But not Kah. Why?”

“Because Kahmunrah isn’t in school?”

“Well, he _was._ Last year. An’ these attacks were still goin’ back then. So why’d they wait until this year, when Ahk came in?”

“I thought we had a killer without motivation,” Octavius points out, as Jed leads them through the doors.

“An’ I thought you said that didn’t make sense.”

“Jed, I just don’t think-”

“There’s gotta be a reason they went after Ahk and not his brother. An’ even if there isn’t, it’s the best lead we got.” He stops, just inside the sliding doors. “We do this or we give up.”

Octavius sighs. “Fine.”

He heads over to the nearest bagger and stands politely. Jed pushes him aside.

“Hey, miss, we’re lookin’ for someone- you know where Mr. Kahmunrah is?”

The woman- Erica, her name tag reads- nods. “Yeah, he just got off. He’s probably up getting his stuff. You friends of his?”

Jed smiles. “Oh, yeah, long time. Thanks!”

They wander through the store, find the meat freezers, and spend at least three minutes getting turned around before finally finding the stairs that lead up to the employee lockers.

Sure enough, Kahmunrah’s crouched in front of his locker, shrugging off his employee sweater.

“Mr. Merenkahre,” Octavius says, gently.

Kahmunrah spins around, sweater falling to the floor. “You two,” he sputters. “You- why are you here?”

“We wanted a chance to talk to you,” Jed says, “without your parents.”

“Oh.” Kahmunrah visibly relaxes. “Uh, sure. Just. Give me a thecond to put away my thtuff, I’ll be right out.”

“He’s cute,” Jed whispers, as Kahmunrah leads them down the stairs and out the store.

“You’re unbelievable,” Octavius mutters.

They end up behind the store, near the recycling bins. Kahmunrah leans on the wall.

“Tho, what did you want to talk about?”

“Tell us about yourself,” Octavius says, easily. He nods to Jed, who clicks his pen on and poises it above a pad of paper. “Anything could be useful information.”

Kahmunrah who looks as if he’s never been asked to speak about himself before, shifts uneasily against the wall.

“I don’t really know, uh.”

“This will all be confidential,” Jed butts in. “No one but us will know, not even your parents.”

“You promith?”

Octavius nods. “Of course. Unless you say so, everything you say will be strictly private information.”

“Okay.” Kahmunrah lets out a breath. “Well. What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with you,” Jed says, clearly knowing more about how to get information out of people. He’s making Kahmunrah feel comfortable, speaking about himself. Octavius watches, carefully.

“You like working here?” Jed asks.

“I gueth. It’th nice.” Kahmunrah shrugs. “It’th a job.”

“You’d rather be working somewhere else?”

“I’m bagging other people’th grotheries,” Kahmunrah says, rolling his eyes. “Not the motht exciting thing in the world.”

“True.” Octavius smiles. “So why stay here?” he gestures to the grocery store.

“Can’t afford to move out,” Kahmunrah says, gloomily. “I’m thaving up money, and once I get enough I’m going to try to find some place to go. Maybe get a roommate. But I don’t know who’d want to move in with me,” he adds, kicking his shoe. “And I can’t really get a job anywhere elth.” He shrugs. “I, uh. Didn’t graduate. They held me back a year, and I _thtill_ didn't.” He crosses his arms. “Mom and Dad weren’t happy. At least, I think they weren’t. They never care about anything I do, it was alwayth about Ahk. Though. Now, it’th _still_ alwayth about Ahk.”

“Were you and your brother close?” Jed asks, cautiously.

“Not really.” Kahmunrah shrugs. “Mom and Dad alwayth liked him better. He was a quieter baby than I was, he was alwayth better in school than I was, and he did everything they asked him to. He worshipped the ground they walked on- I don’t know what he was going to do when he grew up and left- they spoiled him abtholutely rotten.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think they were ever angry at him, not once. Even as a rotten child, he was never punished. Not like I was, anyway.” He sighs. “I get the third degree if I forget to wash my _dithes._ But… to them, I was just. Their firtht mistake.”

“So you didn’t like your brother?” Octavius clarifies, noting that Kahmunrah seems remarkably comfortable using the past tense around his brother- and indeed, using his brother’s name at all. “Would you say you weren’t affected by his death?”

“No, it’th not that, I just-” Kahmunrah breaks off, looking truly uncomfortable for the first time. “I… _gueth_ I should be. But. Mom and Dad told me and I just thort of… heard them. I mean, I know he’s… dead. But I don’t really- I should feel thomething, right?”

“People grieve in different ways,” Jed says, patiently.

“But I’m _not grieving.”_ Kahmunrah looks between Jed and Octavius, somewhat desperately. “You- know about thith kind of thtuff? I should be grieving, I should feel thomething. _Anything.”_

He folds his arms.

“I. I was a terrible brother.”

“I’m sure Ahkmenrah loved you very much,” Octavius tries.

“No, I was the _worst._ I hated that he was so _perfect_ and I was just _not._ And I’d get dreams, thometimes, about-" Kahmunrah shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, as if trying to shake the memories out. "About killing him, but- I- I’d never do it, I _thwear-”_

“We believe you,” Jed says, gently.

“Thith isn’t…” Kahmunrah shakes his head again. “Nevermind.”

“Anything is helpful,” Octavius reminds him. “Even- even if it isn’t, we’d still love to hear it. Confidential, remember.”

Kahmunrah looks at him, doubtfully.

“It might help.”

Kahmunrah sighs. “I just. Thometimes I wonder if thith is what I get for being awful all thith time.” He hugs himself, chilly February wind no doubt ripping through his jacket. “But it’th dumb.”

“It’s natural to feel guilt,” Octavius says, stepping forward. “But you need to understand that none of this was your fault.” He hesitates, giving Kahmunrah enough time to push him away, before putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”

Kahmunrah looks at his shoes.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“No, you will be.” Octavius looks him in the eye. “You’re feeling guilt right now, and that guilt is blocking you from thinking about anything else. It’ll eat you up inside until there’s nothing left, and then spit it all back out. You’ll feel sick.”

“I already do.”

“Then you need to take a break.” He smiles, gently. “Tell your manager you need time off, family emergency. No, don’t look at me like that- if you don’t, _I will._ It won’t do any good trying to distract yourself like this.”

“But Mom and Dad-”

“Get out of the house, then. You have friends?”

“I- a few, but I don’t think they’d-”

“Talk to them.” Octavius smiles, gently. “You’d be surprised what some people are willing to do.”

Kahmunrah nods, weakly.

“Well,” Octavius says, standing and looking back at Jed. “I think we’ve gotten enough, don’t you?”

Jed blinks owlishly at him.

“Jed.” Nothing. _“Smith.”_

That works.

“Right,” Jed stammers. “Yes, ah, thank you. You’ve been… a big help. Come on, Ockie.”

Octavius wrinkles his nose at the nickname, but makes to leave.

“Mr. Gaius?” Kahmunrah says, suddenly, and Octavius turns.

“Yes?”

“I… wanted to apologize,” Kahmunrah says, quietly. “I liked your clath, but. I realized I wasn’t going to have enough credits to graduate, no matter what I did, tho.” He shrugs. “It was easier to thtay home.”

“I understand,” he says, nodding. “I thoroughly enjoyed your essay on _The Things They Carried.”_

Kahmunrah blinks, remembering. “I liked writing it.”

“You should look into that.” Octavius smiles. “Good luck.”

o0O0o

“Awh, where’d you learn to do that?” Jed coos, as they shut the car doors and head for Octavius’s apartment. Jed hadn’t asked and Octavius hadn’t mentioned, but somehow they’d ended up here.

Octavius shrugs.

“No, really,” Jed insists. “That was textbook counseling back there.” He stops, eyes widening, and beams. “Don’t tell me you’ve been talkin’ to your kids.”

Octavius smiles. “Maybe.”

“Awh, Spark, you’re all grown up and _talkin’ to people.”_

“Shut up.” He shoves Jed on the shoulder as he unlocks the door. “You won’t believe some of the things I’ve heard.”

“Eh, I’d believe a few.” Jed smiles, heading in before Octavius even opens the door.

“Really,” Octavius insists, setting the keys on the counter. “You know,” he says, following Jed to the couch, “I don’t think I had a single kid talk to me who didn’t have some tragic backstory like Kahmunrah’s-”

And just like that, he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter today, next chap will be the last one!!!


	10. Chapter 10

February, it seems, has blown itself out to the point of exhaustion.

Friday morning comes with a lazy gust of wind and a lackluster air. The sky is dark even as the sun rises, covered with a thick blanket of clouds. The air is moist and temperate, still cool, but not quite cold. The streets are soggy, the leaves are damp, and the windows are fogged up.

A tree branch brushes over the window, huffing, and he blinks awake.

“Mornin’,” Jed whispers.

He yawns, tilting his head to the side to stretch his neck. “Good morning,” he returns, sleepily.

“Sleep well?”

“Mmm.”

He slides his eyes shut, content to fall asleep again to the beat of the rain, but then, frowning, opens them.

“What time is it?”

Jed rustles around under the blankets until he pulls his phone off the bedside table. After looking at it, he sets it back down and burrows beneath the covers. “’Bout six fifteen.”

Octavius sits up. “We should get going-”

“Nah.” Jed yawns. “School don’t start for another hour’n’ a half. An’ I got my car, remember?”

“Mmm.” He’s far too easily manipulated, this early in the morning. But, at the same time, he doesn’t care.

“We got time,” Jed murmurs, sliding up alongside him.

Octavius blinks.

“Would you,” he says, “like breakfast?”

Jed hums. “You taste fine enough for me.”

“Or a spare change of clothes? I think your old ones are still-”

“You ain’t never shared a bed with someone before, have you?”

Octavius colors.

“Ah. No.”

Jed slides his hands over Octavius’s shoulders and rubs his thumbs over, digs his palms over the shoulder blades. Octavius buries his face into his pillow and moans, gutturally.

“How,” he groans, as he turns over onto his stomach and Jed’s hands slip down to the base of his spine, beginning to work their way up. “How are you-” He breaks off as Jed’s hands reach his sides and work the muscles expertly, “-so good at that?”

“Had a lot of spare time,” Jed murmurs.

“Whatever you’re doing,” he sighs, “ _don’t stop.”_

Jed works up from the base of his spine, around his sides, to his shoulder blades again, and up to his neck. Which is when Octavius actually begins to turn into a pile of goo.

“You ought to- _oh-_ just do this for a living. I’m sure you’d have a reliable clientele.”

“You’d be my best customer, wouldn’t you?”

Octavius lets his head fall fully down into the pillow as Jed’s thumbs nudge over _that spot._ “Of course,” he says, voice muffled.

“Although,” Jed adds, sliding his fingers up through Octavius’s hair and rubbing at his scalp, “you’d really just be coming to see me, right?”

“Not a chance.”

Jed finishes with a kiss to his neck and a swat to his arse.

“Get your lazy ass up,” he murmurs, just behind Octavius’s ear. “It’s donut time.”

o0O0o

Octavius marvels that they live in a day and age where there are, actually, _drive-through donut stores._

Okay, yes, they also make coffee, but their main sell is donuts. He doesn’t know how they’ve stayed in business this long; their pastries are far too sugary for his liking and their coffee is on the watery side of watery. But, yes. Drive-through donuts.

“I don’t know how you survive on this sort of diet,” he grumbles, as they set the half dozen box of donuts in the backseat and pull out of the drive-through.

“You sayin’ you don’t like donuts, Gaius?”

“I’m saying I have standards for my liver, _Smith.”_

“Well, if you’d had more eggs, I could’a made you some, but _no.”_

“You were the one who used them all up in the first place, don’t try to-”

“…There. Feel better, now?”

“Oh, _immensely.”_

Along with the the ability to drive in a straight line while also kissing him soundly- Jed that _cannot be safe what are you doing don’t merge into that lane-_ Jed also seems to possess supernatural parking powers- or at least he prays weekly to the parking gods- because they have no trouble at all finding a space in the lot. Jed takes the donuts and Octavius takes his bag.

“I’ll meet you in the lounge?” Jed says, gesturing with the donut box.

“Sure, let me drop these by my office.” Octavius holds up the bag, which is full to the brim with bags of Jolly Ranchers and Hershey’s Kisses.

“Sure you don’t want a donut before you go?” Jed teases.

“You’ve never heard of Delayed Gratification before, have you?”

“Course I have. I jus’ don’t subscribe to it.”

“Well. Promise me you won’t give into temptation before I get there?”

“Hmm, all right, I’ll try. Jus’ for you.”

Jed shuts the car door with his foot as he leans over and pecks Octavius on the nose.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Awh, guilty as charged.”

The soggy leaves squish under his feet as he walks- Jed heads for the upstairs entrance, as the teacher’s lounge overlooks the field, and Octavius pushes open the downstairs doors, heading for his classroom.

He wipes his feet on the carpet as he unlocks his door and sets the bag down on his desk. He doesn’t flip the lights on; that tends to attract swarms of students before the opening bell. Looking over the classroom one more time, he closes the door and heads down the hallway.

“Morning, Gaius!”

He turns to see Amelia, setting up her own classroom, a few doors down from his own.

“Good morning, Ms. Earhart,” he returns, giving her a wave.

“My, I haven’t heard this much gossip since Smith came in to sub for _you,”_ she gushes. “What’s this about you and your new leaf you’ve turned over?”

Octavius coughs. “I merely- it’s not exactly a new _leaf,_ I’ve just been… thinking about a few things and- and talking to people.” He shrugs. “I’m sure Jed will be… enthused to hear that, though.”

“Jed?” Amelia repeats, without a trace of recognition.

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Smith.”

Amelia claps her hands together and bounces so rapidly that Octavius is surprised she isn’t levitating herself straight off the ground. “You two are _friends,”_ she squeals, running over to grab Octavius in a tight hug. “Oh, Gaius, you’ve made a _friend.”_

“Of sorts,” he says, stiffly. “As a matter of fact, we, ah.” He pries her arms out from around his waist. “We brought in some donuts today. Would you like some?” he asks, through clenched teeth.

“Why, Mr. Gaius, I’m surprised you had to ask.” She winks at him, clicks her tongue, and they set off towards the stairs. “So, you two carpool now?”

“Yes,” Octavius says, uncomfortably. “No. Today. He offered to give me a ride this morning.”

“This-” Amelia stops short at the stairs, standing directly in front of him. “Oh, Gaius, you _didn’t.”_

“There’s a convenient drive-through donut shop not far from here,” he says evasively, stepping around her and coming up the stairs. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

Amelia gives her absolute best impression of a dolphin going into heat.

“You lucky thing, you,” she gushes. “And he’s so _handsome,_ with that hair of his- and that _jawline.”_

“Yes, yes,” he says, quickly. “Come along, I’m sure they’re getting stale.”

He knocks carefully four times on the door and hears a _“come on in!”_ in return. As Amelia vibrates beside him, he pushes open the door for her. Like a goddamn gentleman.

“Oh, Mr. Smith,” she coos, leaving Octavius at the doorway. He shuts it firmly, letting his hand rest for a second or two on the lock before stepping away.

“Why, Amelia,” Jed returns, jovially. “The blazes are you doin’ here? Now, Spark, I told you these were for _us.”_ He looks down at the table, where the box of donuts lies. The lid is closed, but the tabs are out. It’s been opened.

Octavius narrows his eyes and lifts the top of the box up to see not six but _five_ donuts.

“You promised.”

“I promised I’d try.”

“Oh, just _look at you two.”_ Amelia snatches a donut out of the box without so much as a word of warning. “You really are the sweetest, together.”

“Thank you,” Octavius growls.

“So.” Jed takes out a chocolate covered donut for himself and hands Octavius the cream filled one. “Amelia.” He takes an unnecessarily large bite. “What’s up with you?”

“Me?” Amelia blinks.

“Oh, yes.” Octavius rotates the donut around until he finds what looks like the cleanest spot, and takes a bite of his own. “You’re lucky you can afford to take off early every day.” He swallows his bite and sighs. “You don’t have to grade stacks of essays.” He shrugs. “I can’t imagine what you use your extra time for.”

“Yes, well, being an art teacher isn’t exactly easy.” Amelia shrugs. “But I suppose, yes, I do have a little more extra time on my hands.” She pauses, thinking. “Actually, just this Wednesday,” she says excitedly, “I went down to see my cousin’s art museum, it really is-”

“Well,” Jed says, looking up as if he’s considering a particularly difficult problem. “No.”

Amelia blinks. “What?”

“He means to say that no, you weren’t,” Octavius clarifies, setting his donut down. Jed moves to do the same, but sees that he has less than a bite left, and just stuffs the rest of it in his mouth.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Amelia looks between the two of them, uneasily.

“See, this Wednesday,” Jed says, through his mouthful of donut.

“I went home early,” Amelia finishes for him, sharply.

“Did you?” Octavius takes a step forward, and Amelia steps back.

“Cause we don’t think you did.” Jed folds his arms, mimicking Octavius and walking forward.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Amelia smiles.

“Oh, but I do.” Jed’s smile slips from his face- though he still has a smear of chocolate frosting on the corner of his lips. Octavius resists the urge to wipe it off. With his tongue.

“Mr. Smith, really, I was at home-”

“Were you?” Octavius raises an eyebrow. “Or were you in the boys’ bathroom?”

Amelia backs up into the door and puts her hand on the handle. It turns, but the door stays resolutely shut.

_Locked._

Jed smiles for a moment, just enough so Octavius can catch it.

“I- I- why would I be?” Amelia stammers, nervous smile still in place.

“Why indeed.” Octavius narrows his eyes. “Your parents wanted a son, didn’t they?”

Taken aback by the abrupt subject change, Amelia’s stance changes completely. She stands straight, stiff.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, and I don’t care how you came across that information.” She frowns. “Now if you’d kindly unlock this door-”

“Especially your mother,” Octavius says. “That’s why she left, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t-”

“Your father’s disappointment was too much to bear. And you, well. She knew you’d never grow up like a normal child, she knew if she stayed, you would grow to resent her. And so she left.”

“How- how do you-”

“To Florida, actually,” Jed supplies. “Weather’s nice.”

“Keeping on the subject,” Octavius cuts in, “moving along to your father.”

“You don’t know that,” Amelia hisses. “Why would you- you don’t know anything-”

“He abused you,” Octavius says, bluntly. Amelia’s hands cross over her chest. “For years. Didn’t he.” It’s not a question. “You were too young to understand, you grew up thinking of no one but yourself, out of necessity. You never had the chance to learn about love, about trust. About empathy.”

Amelia shrinks into the door with every word, eyes wide.

“You grew into a dangerous person,” Octavius finishes, coldly.

“I’m not dangerous,” Amelia says.

“You killed a fourteen year old boy.”

“I saved him,” she hisses. “He deserved it.”

Beside him, Jed stiffens.

“Did he?” Octavius eyes her coolly.

“Yes.” Amelia seems to get her footing back, standing up a little straighter. “He talked to me, you know, whenever he had the chance. I heard all about his parents. They’re…” Octavius does not say ‘cunts’. He doesn’t even _think_ the word ‘cunts’.

“Venomous,” Amelia finishes. “They ruined him, you know, just ruined him.”

“They loved him.”

“They _blinded_ him.” Amelia shakes her head. “He wouldn’t have lasted a day without them, the poor thing. He’d just be eaten alive.”

“He lasted just fine in here,” Jed butts in. “He had friends.”

“I did what was best,” Amelia sniffs. “Besides. He didn’t deserve all that coddling, you know, he really didn’t-”

 _“You don’t get to decide what people deserve.”_ Octavius wants to pin her up against the wall by her collar, smack her skull.

Jed puts a hand on his shoulder.

“And the others?” Jed says, gently.

“The same.” Amelia shrugs. “Oh, they were all so _pampered,_ my goodness, some of them were just swimming in money, honestly, I- I was only helping them along, I-”

“You weren’t helping anyone.” Octavius, shaking now, balls his hands up into fists. “You just couldn’t stand to be around them, could you?”

“I-”

“You couldn’t bear to hear them talk about how perfect their lives were-”

“It’s not _fair,”_ Amelia wails, and Jed pulls Octavius back.

She slides down a little on the door, and wipes her eyes. Arms huddled around herself, she squeezes her eyes shut, turns her head to the side as if it means they can’t see her, and begins to cry.

They wait.

She cries and cries, mops up her eyes and nose with her sleeve until it’s damp and disgusting. Octavius remembers the night- that night- when he’d cried, truly cried, for the first time in years. His heart twists in pity.

“I only wanted,” Amelia manages, breath hitching. “I just.” She dissolves into tears again.

“I know.” Octavius sighs. “You were jealous.”

Amelia chokes on a sob.

“Taking away those children’s futures didn’t take away your past,” he says, gently. “It never will.”

Amelia looks up at him with red rimmed eyes. “But it’s not _fair.”_

“No.” Octavius smiles bitterly. “It’s not.” He twists his lips. “I’m sorry about your father,” he says, quietly. “But I can’t change that, nothing can. And you’ve done… terrible things.”

“You’re _sorry.”_ Amelia stands up again, red faced. This time it’s fury that rims her eyes, not pain. “You don’t get to tell me you’re _sorry.”_ She blinks. “In fact, you don’t get to tell me anything.”

“I- what?”

“I heard McPhee talking,” she snaps. “The school’s going to shut down.”

Octavius pales.

“Which means,” Amelia says, voice losing its waver, “that every single teacher here is going to relocate. Including me. _And_ including you two.”

Jed looks at Octavius, who stares dumbly back at him.

“So whatever _evidence_ you think you have,” she says, pointing at them, “you can kiss goodbye, because you don’t have a single shred of proof.”

She stares at them, breath huffing in and out of her chest. Octavius and Jed look back at her, and for a moment or two, neither of them say anything.

Jed claps. Once, then twice, then a third time.

 _“Very_ well done,” he says, striding back over to the break room table and flipping the box over. “There’s two left,” he calls to Octavius. “Powdered sugar an’ glazed, which you want?”

“Oh, glazed,” Octavius says, eagerly.

“And might I say,” Jed adds, powdered donut already between his teeth. He hands the glazed one to Octavius and leans on the wall, taking the donut out of his mouth. “That you did a _terrific_ job of not looking into the cameras?”

“I-” Amelia’s eyes scan the ceilings, but don’t find anything. “I don’t-”

 _“Angus!”_ Jed barks, and Octavius reaches over and unlocks the door.

It opens with a burst of officers, all dressed sharply. Two of them- one with her hair tied back in a tight bun and the other with hers loose around her shoulders- immediately take Amelia’s arms and lock them behind her back. Octavius hears the faint _click_ of handcuffs.

The man armed with a crutch in place of his missing leg walks over to Jed, neatly trimmed beard splitting to make way for a warm smile.

“Damn well done,” he says, clapping him on the back. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Smith.” He laughs, voice booming. “Ah, I’m kidding. Had every faith in you. Hogan, on the other hand-”

“Thanks, Angus.” Jed goes red in the cheeks. “I couldn’t’a done it without Ockie, here, though.”

Octavius, glazed donut in hand, smiles sheepishly.

“Well, then,” Angus turns to Octavius and holds out a hand. Octavius takes it and they shake. “Our thanks to you. You ever need a favor,” he says formally, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sleek black business card, “you just call that number.”

“Right.” Octavius takes the card, stiffly.

“You two,” Angus says, looking over his shoulder. “Get her out of here.” The two agents nod and drag Amelia, speechless, out of the teacher’s lounge. “We’ve got more than enough to get her put away for as long as we like.”

“Angus,” Jed says, carefully.

“This’ll all get taken care of,” Angus says, easily. “And you,” he adds, looking at Octavius. “You did well, from what I hear. We’ll see to it that that, ah, restraining order gets off your record. Not a word to anyone else about any of this, of course.”

“Of course,” Octavius echoes.

Jed tries again. “Look, Angus, I-”

“And _you.”_ Angus turns to Jed. “Well, Hogan’ll damn near wet his pants when he hears about this. Nice job with the end, there, really. Spot on.” Angus gives a booming laugh. “You’ll be prime for the Berlin assignment- shame, really, I wanted that one. But, ah, well. You’ll do just fine-”

_“Angus.”_

Jed swats him with the powdered donut, dusting sugar all over his sleeve. Angus stops short.

“Something the matter?” he asks, frostily.

“Yeah.” Jed bites his lip. “I… I ain’t coming with you.”

“Excuse me?” Angus, halfway through dusting off the powdered sugar. “You’re coming back, Jed, and you’re getting promoted- mark my words, you’ll be training new recruits before you know it.”

“That’s.” Jed sighs. “That’s nice, real nice. But I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t, of course you can.”

“I _can’t.”_ Jed shakes his head. “I can’t leave.”

“Leave what?”

“Leave _here.”_

Angus pinches the bridge of his nose. “For Chrissake, Jed, you can’t just _stay.”_

“I don’t see why I can’t.”

“You don’t even _begin_ to have the qualifications to be a teacher.” Angus shakes his head. “And what would you even _teach?”_

“Gym?” Jed shrugs. “I hear this place is desperate.” He grins toothily. “An’ if that don’t work out, I hear they need some new janitors.”

“Are you _insane?”_

Jed turns in surprise not to Angus, but to Octavius.

“Spark?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Octavius gapes at Jed, looks between him and Angus. “Are you seriously going to just throw away-”

“Don’t you want me to stay?”

Jed’s voice, quieter than Octavius has ever heard it, cuts through his argument. Octavius laughs, rubbing his eyes.

“Of _course_ I want you to stay.” He shakes his head. “But…” He sighs. “Jed, how could you give this up?” At the word ‘this’, he gestures to Angus and the room full of agents.

“Well.” Jed takes another bite of Octavius’s donut. “Since comin’ here, I found out that I love teachin’.” Jed winks. “An’ I might love somethin’ else just a little bit, too.”

“You’re. You’re sure about this?” Angus asks, raising an eyebrow. “You know you won’t be able to come back if you desert.”

Jed nods.

“And you can’t breathe a word about anything- any of it- to anyone?”

Jed nods.

Angus sighs. “Well, I can’t stop you.” He shrugs. “I’ll see what I can do. Gym teacher if you’re lucky, janitor if you aren’t.”

Jed beams.

“We’ll close down today,” Angus continues, “while we clean up this mess. We’ll get a sub in next week for Earhart, and two more for you two.”

“That won’t be-”

“That sounds _perfect,”_ Jed says, running Octavius over. “Thanks, Angus.”

“Consider this your last favor from us,” Angus warns him. “Unless there’s an emergency, of course. Then you have my card.” He looks at Octavius for a moment before turning to the standing agents in the room. “Good luck, Jed.”

“You two, Angus. Keep out of trouble, will you?”

Angus winks. “You know I always do.”

His crutch _thumps_ on the lounge floor as he leaves, giving one last salute to Jed over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Jed says, folding his arms proudly. “What do you think?”

Octavius is clearly supposed to say _I think I love you._

“I think,” he says slowly, “you are absolutely insane.”

Jed snorts. “Cmon, let’s stop an’ get more donuts on the way home.”

o0O0o

“Angus is the _governor,”_ Octavius wails, looking at the letter. “Look at this.”

“What?” Jed, too lazy to come out of the kitchen, settles with yelling as loudly as possible. Which is ridiculous, because Octavius’s- _their-_ apartment is small enough that he could be whispering and Octavius would still hear him.

“He’s got you an actual job,” Octavius says, disbelief coloring his tone. ”Officially, you’re the new Gym teacher- thank Christ, I don’t think Cecil could have stuck it out for another year- but you’ll also be acting as a student teacher in- oh. Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Octavius says, quickly. “I hope you like music.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the epilogue to go, then this thing will be dONE  
> ok i cheated a bit with angus since technically he, you know, doesnt exist  
> but pshhhh


	11. Epilogue

Let it be known that Octavius Gaius is a morning person.

He has one alarm on his phone, which doesn’t have a snooze button.

“Fuck.”

Some days, he wakes to the sun melting over his eyes. Some days, he wakes to his alarm.

“Fucking- _shit.”_

Some days, he wakes to something else.

“I am going,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut, “to _explode_ if you don’t do something.”

“Awh, well,” Jed humms, rocking back and forth teasingly. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“For fuck’s sake, will you just- _ah-”_

Jed laughs, leaning over and looking Octavius dead in the eye. He grinds his hips back down, humming to himself as if absolutely nothing is wrong.

“I mean it.” Octavius scowls with all the sullenness he can muster. “I’m going to die, right here, and you’re going to have to- _oh-_ bury me.” He tries to thrust his weak hips up to meet Jed’s, but fails rather spectacularly. “You’ll have to write my eulogy. And pay for the- _fuck-_ for the headstone.”

“Here lies Octavius Gaius,” Jed mocks, rolling his hips forward and back. “Died of Mind-Blowing Sex.”

“I’ll come back to haunt you if you don’t,” Octavius warns. “For _fuck’s sake-”_

But Jed shuts him up with a kiss and a thrust, and the rest of the morning is lost to them.

o0O0o

“Decaf?”

“If you don’t put something caffeinated in my hand in the next _fifteen seconds-”_

“You’ll what?”

“Give me that.” He snatches the mug out of Jed’s hands and takes a sip. Okay, so they don’t exactly have anywhere to be this morning, but it’s still nice to feel awake. “Oh, fuck me, that’s good.”

“I can also make eggs.”

“Shut up, I’m drinking.”

Jed swats his arse.

o0O0o

Henry gurgles at his feet and sits down, hunching over.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare-” Octavius hefts her up around the middle and sprints over to the door, unlocks the handle, and-

Henry promptly throws up on the inside welcome mat.

“You two okay back there?” Jed calls from the couch. “You need me to give you some time alone?”

“Some paper towels would be nice.”

“Not _again.”_ Jed sets his book down and marches to the kitchen. He grabs the roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaning fluid under the sink. “I swear,” he grumbles, striding over to Octavius and kneeling down, “that cat’s gonna puke up her own stomach one of these days. And then eat it.” He wipes up the vomit and sprays the floor with cleaning fluid, then wipes it up again.

After throwing the paper towels in the bin and giving his hands a quick wash, he turns back to Octavius. “All clean,” he says, proudly. “Feel free to thank your knight in cleaning armor.”

Octavius thanks him by giving him a twenty minute blowjob as he finishes his book.

o0O0o

They slot together on the couch, blinds closed so no one sees the glow of their TV outside in the dark, and Octavius presses _play_ on the _Lion King_ DVD. Henry settles herself on the right arm of the couch, tail twitching every so often.

“Just wait,” Jed whispers, leaning over and resting his head on Octavius’s shoulders. “It’ll make you cry.”

Octavius yawns.

“We’ll see about that.”

Yes, sometimes it takes a few minutes to see how well his day is going to go. Sometimes he wakes up to an empty bed and searches up and down the apartment before realizing Jed’s just in the shower. Sometimes he wakes up from nightmares of glassy eyes to whispers and kisses and tears.

But sometimes, he thinks, pressing his nose into Jed’s hair.

Sometimes, things are perfect.

o0O0o

_Fin._

o0O0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's a wrap!! *falls onto the floor*
> 
> special thanks to [get-spoopy-with-it](www.get-spoopy-with-it.tumblr.com) and [dentelle-grise](www.dentelle-grise.tumblr.com) for betaing!! I couldn't have done it without you ;)
> 
> please leave a kudos/comment if you liked, and hit me up on my [natm tumblr](www.octodaddy.tumblr.com) if you want to chat :D
> 
> (side note: as of this story being published, ive written over 100k of jedtavius)  
> (im not ashamed)


End file.
